#I AM ENJOYING HOUSE OF USHER

[sparklyslug]

Me @ Mike Flanagan at least once every episode

[sibylsleaves]

there’s a ton of gruesome death in this show but what I really needed a tw for was the cat murder ☹️☹️☹️

[msnova-scotia]

Literally wild how we used to watch like, snuff films on the internet of someone getting actually stabbed or beheaded or shot or whatever and there was a point in time as we grew up where we were like “damn that was fucking messed up. Nobody should have been watching those videos because it’s borderline traumatic” and yet now today, there are half a dozen shows with the most realistic violence and gore and over the top death that it’s worse than the videos we used to watch that we agreed were traumatic. Sure we know it’s fiction, but we shouldn’t have the ability to watch a room full of people be melted by acid and congealed in a pile of bones and blood and flesh as they scream out

[doriansbutt]

man wtf is it w Mike Flanagan and violence to cats

[swordgrace]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒.

༆ jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: as lady-in-waiting to rhaenyra targaryen, you find that her eldest son, jacaerys, is the only true friend and comfort you have amidst a brewing war that threatens to tear the realm apart.

note: jacaerys is nineteen, reader is eighteen.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

{ FORMAT: one shot — requested.

{ WORD COUNT: 11.5K (this is a long one, not sorry!)

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), friends to lovers, inexperience from both reader & jace, loss of virginity (mutual), first time sexual experiences, sexual tension, p in v sex (unprotected), missionary position, lots of kissing and sweeter antics, slight risk of getting caught, oral sex (fem!receiving), handjob, fingering, hair pulling kink, brief overstimulation, tiddy sucking, this whole thing is soft & sweet smut, nothing disgusting here, jacaerys is the epitome of a perfect lover :))

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am lowkey transitioning into becoming a Jace girl, I absolutely love him and I’m really enjoying where his character is going! This was a request from an anon user who wanted something freeform! I hope you all enjoy it, thanks so much for all of the recent love & support for my work! It makes me so happy! ❤️

𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒, harkened in from the gentle roll of the tides. Saltwater and dampened rock filled your nostrils, aided by the fluttering breeze as it danced across the obsidian cliffs of Dragonstone.

The castle stood the testament of time, a monolith to the rule of the Targaryens. It loomed overhead, less frightening in the lighter hours, blanketed by glittering rays of sunlight. A cloudless day — good for sailing, you thought, as vessels ushered in goods to the shoddy harbor below.

Beneath the vibrancy of a cloudless sky, you could see the shadow of a dragon soaring overhead — the Princess Rhaenys, from the horned shape above. You cupped your hand around your eyes, squinting to see, constantly mesmerized by such creatures.

In your fantastical dreams, you flew upon the back of a dragon, letting the wind scrape across your visage, feeling the weight of something so powerful beneath you. Of course, you were neither Targaryen nor Velaryon — possessing a dragon wouldn’t be in the cards for you, and perhaps that was a good thing.

As much as you enjoyed the beauty of Dragonstone, you much preferred the outdoors. The weather was splendid, and you took small victories wherever possible. With war on the horizon between your Queen Rhaenyra and her usurper brother, any chance at happiness was worth chasing after and holding onto, while you could.

House Celtigar had bent the knee to Rhaenyra, and your father sat at her council. You were made to be a lady-in-waiting, much your initial disdain. The station you held would’ve been considered a great honor to most young women, but you were inclined to be out in the ocean or on the back of a horse.

Now, you found enjoyment in it, wherever you could.

Oceanic air filled your lungs in a singular inhale, tinged with a saltwater sting. You stood near one of the many stone terraces lining the lengthy walkway to the castle’s entrance, accompanied by Joffrey. The boy had become your greatest joy amidst the brewing chaos, and you were rather grateful for it.

“Would you like to see the ocean, little Prince?” You held the boy’s hand, stooping down to wrap your arms beneath him, standing him up along the cobbled bannister. Joffrey’s laughter could brighten a whole room, and it did — it certainly lifted your spirits.

“When will I be able to ride a dragon?” He questioned, pointing towards the shape of Meleys in the sky. Joffrey was rather inquisitive — a sharp mind, one that would become a great leader someday.

You were unsure of how to answer such a question. Tyraxes was young and still small, just like Joffrey. “Whenever you grow up,” You hummed, a smile playing at either corner of your mouth. “You must be as tall as your brother, first.”

Joffrey toyed with the wooden dragon clutched between his hands, gaze falling toward the ground. “Luke wasn’t much taller.” He mumbled, and it nearly crushed your heart completely to hear the confusion and despair in a child’s voice.

Youth knew more than most, and in the mind of a child, something heinous could appear innocent, or something tragic was beyond their comprehension. Joffrey knew that Luke was gone — he wasn’t coming back. Silence drifted between the both of you, and you found it difficult to change the subject from Lucerys to something lighthearted.

“I miss him.” Joffrey’s sweet voice rang out like the pealing of bells, crystal-clear and downtrodden. You turned him around within your grasp, keeping your hands slotted underneath his arms to ground him. His eyes swam with unshed tears, prompting you to bring him into your embrace.

“It’s alright, my Prince. He’s still here,” You whispered, hugging the boy as tightly as you could. It was enough to rip at your heartstrings, tear you asunder as melancholy began to eat you alive. The fate of Lucerys was a tragic one — unfair and unwarranted, and now, a catalyst for destruction between kin. “We will remember him.”

From afar, Jacaerys observed you and his brother, standing along the ramparts with a palm atop the pommel of his shortsword. The emotional turmoil he continued to feel in regards to Lucerys happened to swell the moment he saw Joffrey clinging onto you — and he knew.

Wisps of a tempered breeze stirred his curled tresses, drifting across his regalia as it caught against his cloak. After the death of his brother, he had come out to the ramparts nearly every night, to sob and to curse the world, to pray to any God that would listen — return Lucerys, bring him home. He had lost count, and in turn, lost a bit of faith.

Remaining optimistic in the face of unavoidable danger was a difficult thing — fear had gripped him once, but no longer. He knew that the only time a man could be brave was in situations like these, where terror stared him in the face and dared him to submit.

Many still referred to him as a mere boy, with little experience and no real understanding of the world and its cruelty. Jacaerys had shed the raiment of boyhood the night he flew blindly into the darkness in the name of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

With the man born, he knew that whatever would come next, he was prepared to face such challenges head-on. Brazenness was not in his nature, but he had learned to adopt stoicism when it mattered most. It was easy to shed the facade around his family, and around you.

His friendship with you was a calm within the storm, a lull in the tempestuous hurricane you were all trapped within. You now had as much stake in this game as he did — your father served on Rhaenyra’s council with Celtigar bannerman pledging to fight in the war to come, and you served as his mother’s lady-in-waiting.

Your blossoming bond was a great comfort, and the tender way in which you cared for Joffrey was a wonderful thing. You had a soft heart — a good heart, and that was something rare to come by. The two of you were both of a similar feather, and the admiration he held for you only seemed to grow stronger each day.

The word friendship often tormented him, on days where you wore beautiful gowns and stood beside his mother, or whenever you smiled. It tormented him when you held Joffrey within your arms and protected him just as fiercely as Rhaenyra would.

Honor demanded that he simply remain just that — a friend, but Jacaerys found himself smitten with you in a way that transcended propriety. To cross that line, especially with you, invited the disdain of his mother and the ire of your father, amongst other things.

Betrothal would be upon him soon enough, likely with a young maiden from the Vale or the Reach to secure an alliance, but it left a sour taste within his mouth. He had little desire to be with anyone else when you were right there.

Jacaerys steeled himself, abandoning his whimsical line of thinking in regards to you. It was a fool’s errand, and he couldn’t afford to be a fool. He stepped closer, the crunch of stone resonating underneath his boots as he approached you and Joffrey.

“My Lady,” Jacaerys’s tone was amiable, like the comforting lick of a warm hearth. His gaze flickered toward Joffrey, bemused with his brother’s antics as you balanced him along the bannister. “What are you doing up there?” He asked, playful in the presence of his little brother.

“Flying,” Joffrey’s head lifted from your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. You happened to carry him in such a way that he called it flying — and he was asking you to do it again. “Flying!”

With a giggle, you picked the boy up, swinging him up enough to let him get some air. His melancholy turned to jovial laughter as you soared him over to Jacaerys, who was more than happy to pick him up. Joffrey clung to Jace, hugging his brother with all of his strength.

“You are getting too big to fly,” Jace mused, holding Joffrey in one arm as he motioned for you to accompany him. His tousled curls and amicable smile sent your heart fluttering as it had many times before. It wasn’t subtle, your liking of Jacaerys, but you understood the nature of your affections. “Big enough for Tyraxes, soon.”

Jacaerys was perfect, with all of the hallmarks of what a true King should be. He was gentle and eloquent, honed with a blade, learned — and above all, he was kind. The rage that plagued him now was justified, and it pained you to see him become coiled with anger, but you understood why.

As Joffrey regaled the two of you with tales of childlike wonder, soaring his toy dragon around Jace’s head, Jacaerys seemed inclined to converse with you regardless. “I always know where to look, whenever I need to see you.” He mused, walking alongside you as you made your way up the ramparts.

“Is that so?” You chuckled, head canting to one side. “What did you need to see me for, your Grace?” It was a force of habit — he was the heir to the Iron Throne, after all. Jacaerys regarded you with a brief laugh, knowing that formalities were often abandoned whenever the two of you were together.

“Do I need a reason?” Jacaerys mused, voice light and inviting. The crash of the tide upon the beach provided a rather serene ambience, accompanied by the calling of gulls as they circled the bay.

You shook your head, skirts gathered in one hand as you narrowly avoided an upturned plate of stone. “Of course not,” You hesitated, gaze sparkling as your nose wrinkled in mild amusement. “Jacaerys.” You ensured to exaggerate his name, allowing for your conversation to become personal.

At the end of the ramparts, a flock of crimson-clad handmaidens awaited your return. It was likely that they were waiting for you to hand Joffrey over, much to your dismay. The black-headed boy looked to you as you neared the end of your walk.

“I don’t want to go,” He protested, reaching for you as you stepped forward, taking a hold of his hand. “When can we fly again?” Joffrey asked, lower lip jutting out in a rather innocuous pout. He leaned forward, partially out of Jace’s grasp to give you a hug.

“Tomorrow, my Prince. I will let you fly as much as you��d like.” You assured him, reciprocating his hug with one of your own, with all of the warmth one could muster. It was motherly in-nature, and you watched as Jacaerys planted him onto solid ground.

Joffrey took the outstretched hand of a handmaiden, glancing back at you and Jacaerys before they disappeared behind the castle’s massive gates. It always hurt you to leave him, but you knew that tomorrow would come swiftly. A begrudging sigh escaped you before you looked at Jacaerys, countenance somber.

Jace knew what you were about to say — something about Lucerys. The gaping wound left within his heart was barely healed, still oozing with pain, but he was making every effort to mend it. You helped — your resolute reassurance and shoulder to lean on, but sometimes, it wasn’t enough.

Instead, you reached for Jace’s forearm, giving it a brief squeeze of comfort. Whatever sentiments he held, you seemed to echo it, leaving it all unspoken. You and Jacaerys had already spoken about it all at-length — sometimes, he had little desire to tear himself open again.

His head hung low, heap of dark curls billowing in the wind. Jacaerys’s jaw tightened for a brief moment, and he imagined plunging his sword into Aemond Targaryen’s other eye — and then it passed, just as quickly as it had appeared.

A forlorn silence settled between the both of you, one that was born out of mutual understanding and empathy. Jace went quiet often, and you were content to sit in it for as long as he pleased. Instead, you stepped toward the bannister, palms planting themselves atop the stone as you gazed out toward the land surrounding Dragonstone.

“You are good with him,” Jacaerys broke the silence, deliberately stepping towards you as he stood by your side. Joffrey and his half-brothers, Aegon and Viserys, were all he had left. He would die for them if he had to. “He talks about you often.”

An exuberant smile crept onto your features, one of a sweet fondness in regards to Joffrey. “He is a sweet boy — very sharp-witted, though. I would imagine he will grow to be very wise.” You replied, idly tracing your fingers around some of the rocks socketed into the bannister.

“I remember the day he was born,” Jacaerys recalled, remembering the day that his mother, pale skin glistening with sweat, had wobbled into the drawing room, a newborn Joffrey in her arms. “It was a beautiful day, and Ser Harwin was there, and Ser Laenor …” He trailed off, recalling the way that Lucerys had begged to hold his younger brother.

The topic of both Laenor and Harwin were bitter ones — both men playing the role of father. Jacaerys loved them both, as any son would. Another gust of saltwater mist brushed along the ramparts, dusting your cheeks with wisps of moist air.

Wordlessly, you reached for Jace’s arm, looping yours around him as you let him lean against you for support. As much as Jacaerys insisted that he would recover and move on, you ensured him that grieving took time — it came in many shapes and forms.

Jace’s smile was wistful and threadbare, made sorrowful by memories of Lucerys. He didn’t want to sully the moment with his melancholy, holding his head high as he glanced toward you. You were not looking, but it allowed him a moment of appreciation and admiration.

Your beauty was unparalleled, your features delicate and smile like the warmth of a summer sunshine. The way in which you carried yourself was of a kindly disposition, made to be nurturing and helpful instead of imposing. Admittedly, you took his breath away — the feeling was a constant one.

Sunlight sparkled across your countenance, gaze soothing and full of empathy. The way in which you grasped his arm, kept yourself tucked away within his side, it invoked feelings of protectiveness — and newfound affection.

A dragon’s shrill cry reverberated throughout the skies, prompting Jacaerys to immediately look ahead. It was the familiar shriek of Vermax, his bonded dragon, who had grown exponentially. He was larger than Moondancer, with olive-colored scales and orange fins, eyes the color of a burnished gold.

“Māzigon, Vermax!” Jacaerys called, gaining the attention of his dragon as it began to approach, causing your heart to gallop within your chest. He looked at you with a hint of amusement, head canting to one side. “Would you like to see him?” Jace inquired, moving along the wall.

As majestic as dragons were, the wonder within your eyes had quickly shifted to wariness as it landed along the ramparts, rocks scraping underneath its talons. Vermax was much larger when in close proximity than he was flying overhead. “He is wonderful, Jace. Though, it is best if I keep my distance. He might not like me.”

Jacaerys laughed, amber-brown eyes sparkling with mirth. “Might not like you?” He mused, knowing that such a thought was outlandish. If he liked you, then Vermax most certainly would. A dragon could always pick apart friend from foe, and you were as far from an enemy as one could be.

“Yes, what — Jacaerys, that is a perfectly reasonable thing to say,” You countered, flustered by Jace’s reaction to your skepticism. His smile was cheery and heartfelt as he stared at you, and then offered his hand. “I do not think that this is a good idea.” A soft utterance emerged from under your breath.

“Trust me.” His tone softened exponentially, shifting from playful to gentle, reassuring. You hesitated before taking a hold of his hand, and Jacaerys nearly brushed his thumb across your knuckles out of sheer instinct. Whatever thoughts he had, he pushed them to the far recesses of his mind.

You trusted Jacaerys more than most, prompting you to nod as he ushered you closer to Vermax. His grasp was tender, as to not frighten you, which only made your heart flutter with affection. The dragon bristled and made a series of noises, some more serpentine than others.

Vermax lowered his head, pushing closer towards his rider as the dragon bowed to Jacaerys. You were close enough to feel the waves of heat wafting from his breath, close enough to outstretch your arm and feel his scales beneath your palm.

The scent of brimstone and dragonscale lingered upon Vermax, like a crackling fire and smoke. You watched with bated breath as Jace’s palm moved to Vermax’s snout, digits tracing along the olive-hued scales, and down toward his jaw. “Sagon iēdrosa,” Jace murmured, stepping closer to his dragon. “Sȳz.”

High Valyrian was an exquisite language, a beautiful symphony from an ancient era. Jacaerys had become proficient in such a tongue, and the way he spoke it had you mesmerized. With a gentle smile, he still held your hand, gesturing toward Vermax.

“What are you saying to him?” You inquired, losing some of your fear. It gradually waned the closer Jacaerys had inched you toward the dragon, who showed no ill will towards you at all. Instead, Vermax’s burnished hues glimmered with intrigue — you were a familiar scent, emblazoned upon Jace, but not a familiar face.

“I told him to be still for you,” Jacaerys replied, fingers flexing around your own as he carefully guided you toward Vermax’s neck, where the scales began to flare and thicken. Olive turned to emerald in some places, verdant shades clashing together. “Place your hand here.”

Your breath hitched within your throat as Jace became in close proximity to you, closer than he’d been before. His grasp was a tender one, placing your palm atop the dragon’s throat. Warmth crept along the length of your spine, filling your belly with an eruption of butterflies.

You made the mistake of glancing at Jacaerys for the briefest moment, able to spot the rosy flush of color within his visage and the gleam within his stare. As soon as you’d made contact, he happened to glance away, making a soft noise as it stirred within his throat.

Vermax chortled, the dragon’s attention fixated upon you as you brushed your fingers across his scales. Jace had dropped your hand, realizing the sliver of space between you both as he stepped aside, content to observe you with his dragon.

It was your enchanting laughter that lifted his spirits, the gentle way in which you stroked across Vermax’s neck and shoulder. “He is beautiful,” You hummed, countenance bright with a joyous radiance as you looked at Jacaerys once more. The gap between you had grown, much to your dismay. “How do you say that in High Valyrian?”

Jace hesitated, lips parting just slightly. His heart nearly skipped a beat when you smiled at him, expectant and awaiting his answer. He became so easily distracted in your presence, and it was somewhat vexing to behold. “Gevie,” He replied, briefly clearing his throat. “Gevie means beautiful, in High Valyrian.”

With a soft hum, you looked to Vermax, your grin toothy and amused. “Gevie, Vermax.” You spoke clearly, but the dragon did not seem to understand what you said — it wasn’t a command. Instead, he let out a series of reptilian noises, nostrils flaring with snort, almost like that of a horse.

Vermax’s lack of reaction made you frown, but Jacaerys appeared amused by it, at least. “Gevie isn’t a command,” He mused, head canting to one side. “Your High Valyrian needs improvement.” His tone was jocular, teasing — it made your heart stir within your chest.

“Fortunately, I have the perfect teacher standing before me.” You countered with a giggle, noticing the way in which a shade of pink settled into his features. Jacaerys was beautiful and handsome, but his flustered behavior only made him more perfect to you.

The dragon shook its head, seeking the embrace of his rider before he began to take flight. A massive gust of wind from the flap of his wings nearly knocked you down, causing you to crouch and grip the stone of the ramparts.

Jacaerys smiled, watching as Vermax ascended, taking to the skies above Dragonstone once more. You watched with a semblance of awe, slowly rising to your feet as the dragon became a mere specter amidst the cloudless sky. He did not stray too far, circling around with the likes of Moondancer and Syrax.

“Someday, I will take you flying with me,” Jace suggested, nose wrinkling slightly at your bewildered expression. “I would keep you safe.” He reassured you before words could emerge from your mouth, his chuckle amicable as he led you back toward the gates of Dragonstone.

“I trust you, but flying?” To see the world from such great heights sounded wonderful, but you feared the fall — and you feared the unknown of it all even more. “That might take more convincing than this did.” You mused, walking alongside him as the gates became closer.

A huff escaped him, hand dropping from the pommel of his shortsword to his side, a symbol of letting his guard down. A comfortable silence settled between the both of you, occasionally accompanied by a brief bout of laughter or tender smiles.

As the gates loomed over the both of you, Jacaerys hesitated, deliberating on what to say next. There were so many things he wanted to say to you — where did he begin? The nerves of first affection grabbed hold of him, but he remained resistant, wanting nothing more than to tell you how much you meant to him.

“Perhaps an exchange is in-order,” Jacaerys began, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. “You come flying with me, and I will teach you High Valyrian.” He mused, smothering his grin at your expression. You were clearly wary and unimpressed.

“Danger for something that I could learn in the comfort of a book? I think not, your Grace.” With a grin of your own, Jace happened to snicker, his visage invoking an unspoken challenge, albeit playful. “If I am ever feeling bold and spontaneous, I will inform you as soon as possible.”

Jacaerys hummed, head ducking for just a moment before he met your gaze again, doting and overflowing with a subtle warmth. “Thank you for this,” He began, tone heartfelt and genuine. “I would not know what to do if it weren’t for your company and comfort. I’ve found it difficult to remain jovial as of late, but it’s rather effortless in your presence.”

His genial compliments made your stomach turn with excitement, and you could soar away. Jacaerys would be an excellent ruler, should he take the Iron Throne — such grace, compassion, and gallantry were true hallmarks of what would make a good King. You felt the familiar, smitten flush dance along your skin.

“Of course, Jace — you never have to ask for it,” Your fingers twisted into the silk of your gown, an outlet for your growing nerves. “You’ve no idea how much your company means to me. We will get through this together, that much I know.” With a brief nod, you felt his stare grow in intensity.

Before he could bear his heart to you on a whim, the gates opened, revealing several Targaryen bannermen and Kingsguard. It was sudden and somewhat jarring, placing the two of you back within reality — in a realm on the brink of war.

“I should return to your mother, I fear I’ve neglected my duties enough today,” You murmured, offering Jace a kindly smile before dropping to curtsy. He seemed starstruck, as if caught within the depths of his own thoughts. “Good afternoon, your Grace.”

Formalities reappeared again, much to his disdain. He loved it when you called him Jace or Jacaerys, or your Grace whenever you teased him. To hear it used in the context of nobility made him feel distant, but he understood. You possessed a strong sense of propriety.

“My Lady.” Jace replied, watching as you took your leave to rejoin the other handmaidens and guardsmen. Jacaerys cursed himself for not making the most of the moment, but he knew that he could make his own opportunity, forge it if it never came about.

He intended to do just that.

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋, with braziers dancing across the obsidian interior. Stars sparkled above a clear night sky, dragons dancing above. It was almost like something from a fairytale or a painting, mesmerizing to behold as you gazed up at the scaling ceiling of your bedchambers.

Your quarters were small and homely, befitting of your status as lady-in-waiting. Rhaenyra had ensured that your lodgings and that of your father were enough — more than suitable, really. The feathered mattress you slept upon was made for royalty, you thought.

The constant flicker of candlelight provided a source of warmth as you rolled over within your bed, blankets hauled up beneath your chin. It was too early to fall asleep, too late to do anything of substance.

A knock at your door gave you pause, brows furrowing together as you retrieved your robe, lacing it around the sheer gossamer of your nightgown. Bare feet traveled across the cold stone, until you reached the metal hoop slotted atop mahogany.

With a pull, you opened the door, surprised to find Jacaerys, who had abandoned his traditional Targaryen regalia, hands occupied with a stack of various tomes and scrolls. His mop of dark curls framed his face, and even he seemed just as bewildered as you were.

“Jacaerys,” His nightly visits were rather uncommon — in fact, this was only the second time he’d come, the first following Lucerys’s passing. You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, stepping aside to allow him inside of your chambers. “Is everything alright?”

Jace placed the stack of books atop the table that sat amongst small lounge chairs, ensuring to clear his throat before he spoke. “Of course,” He replied, gesturing toward your newfound reading material. “I’ve brought you scripts to learn High Valyrian.”

You blinked, touched by such a thoughtful gesture. You smoothed your palms across your robe, stepping forward to inspect the books, many of which appeared ancient and weathered. “You didn’t have to,” You replied, head canting to one side. “Many of these seem important. Are you sure that no one will miss these?”

A brief chuckle escaped him before he shook his head. “The Maesters might, but they’ve read them a hundred times over, I’m certain of it. You will find more use.” He replied, retreating toward the threshold of your chambers. Jacaerys wanted to keep his visit brief — visiting a young woman’s quarters in the dead of night was not exactly an intelligent move.

“You’re leaving so soon?” Your inquiry held a twinge of disappointment, hoping that he would stay and converse with you, at the very least. “Jacaerys, I assure you that no one will admonish you if you stay for a few minutes longer.” The softness of your voice enticed him, and he very nearly confessed then and there.

The weight of growing sentiments felt as if they would swallow him whole if he did not speak them into fruition. With the threat of a looming war and the potential for oblivion, Jacaerys was unsure of what gave him pause. The fear of rejection, perhaps? That wasn’t it.

It took a moment for you to adjust, and when you did, you noted his own attire — a billowy tunic and dark trousers that happened to make him appear softer in the candlelight. The sharp black and crimson of his house’s colors made him intimidating and poised, but no longer.

You saw Jacaerys himself, doe-eyed and magnificent.

“I fear what will happen if I stay,” Jacaerys confessed, squaring himself with the door. If he continued to linger in your chambers without restraint or without additional eyes, he knew what would happen — he did not want to sully your honor. “I won’t.”

“Jacaerys,” You whispered, brows furrowing together to form a look of confusion and startlement. Out of concern, you stepped closer, abandoning the scripts of High Valyrian now scattered across your table. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand.”

The inner war he waged within seemed to reflect upon his countenance, as Jacaerys exhaled — it was laced with stress, a heaviness that you struggled to understand. He seemed flustered, not wanting to meet your amiable gaze. “It is best if I leave it alone.” He replied, taking a hold of your hands. “I would not tarnish your honor.”

That is what he meant.

Something boiled over inside of you, the butterflies and blossoming affection turning into a tidal wave that threatened to swallow you whole. As Jace held your hands, he seemed desperate to convey such a message — whatever he wanted, he could not have.

A brief exhale escaped you before you steeled yourself, thumbs brushing across his knuckles, over the veins of his hands. “You wouldn’t tarnish it,” You whispered, stomach churning with molten heat. “I know that you wouldn’t, Jace. I trust you the most.”

Jacaerys felt the stirring within his chest, the first inkling of arousal settling into his very bones. It was somewhat foreign — a new feeling, but exciting and exhilarating. “I would never hurt you,” He insisted, and you believed him wholeheartedly. “What I feel for you, I do not wish to feel this way with anyone else.”

If you could’ve collapsed then and there, you would’ve — you thought it would happen, with the way your knees rattled together beneath your nightgown. The beating of your heart accelerated into a violent crescendo, and then you felt the rush — the love you had for him, desire, admiration, neediness.

A tenuous silence drifted between you both, the tension thick enough to be sliced with a blade. Jacaerys had inched closer without thinking, able to peer down into your eyes, swirling with affection and bewilderment. “If I told you I felt the same?” Your voice barely rose above a whisper.

Deliberately, Jacaerys released one of your hands, allowing his palm to fully envelop your face, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “I would never difile your virtue, or take it for granted. You must tell me if this is something you want.” He insisted, jaw tightening as he anxiously awaited your answer.

You knew that he wouldn’t — Jacaerys Velaryon was the most honorable man you knew, one that would never lay a finger upon you unless you consented. You couldn’t imagine a return to friendship if you happened to reject him — you didn’t want to reject him, either.

“I do,” A shudder ran down your spine, bringing a wave of thrill and anticipation with it. “I want this — and I want you, Jacaerys, if you’ll have me.” Part of you became nervous, knowing that you had never bedded a man before, but you pushed the thought aside.

“A hundred times over.” Jace uttered, dipping down to press his lips against yours. The kiss was incredibly sweet and delicate, something brief to test the waters as the two of you began to explore uncharted territory. Your hands reached for his chest, flat atop his sternum.

Allowing the kiss to linger, you tilted your head just slightly, enough to permit a sensual progression. He kissed you so sweetly, treated you as if you were precious, something to be worshiped. When he inevitably pulled away, you felt a twinge of nervousness.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Your confession was a strenuous one, and you hoped that he wouldn’t be disappointed by your lack of experience. Most men already had a plethora by the time betrothals and first love emerged. “Is that alright?”

“Of course,” Jacaerys reassured you with a gentle squeeze, brows furrowing together with insistence. He hesitated, somewhat sheepish to admit the very same, but he knew you wouldn’t admonish him for it. “I haven’t either, if that’s alright.” He mused, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.

A sweet bout of laughter escaped you before you nodded several times over, unable to keep from withholding your happiness. “I suppose that this will be quite the learning experience.” You felt his thumb stroke along your jaw, his lips molding themselves to yours in another kiss.

Passion and tension began to mount, a continuous climb of affection, prepared to turn into something fiery. Jacaerys worried that he would disappoint you, or perhaps feel clumsy and awkward, but those were mere insecurities — he knew that you wouldn’t hold it against him.

One of his hands dropped, finding the pliant curve of your hip as he sank his digits into you, able to haul you closer, until there was no space left between the two of you. Kissing felt effortless with Jace, despite your inexperience — he was gentle and deliberate, ensuring that he took his time with you above all else.

Your fingers wandered from his chest to his broad shoulders, finding the curls of hair at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys exhaled, a shiver rolling down his spine as you began to gently tug at his tresses. He canted his head slightly, enough to deepen the kiss and hold you close.

It was Jace who slowly broke the kiss, but just enough to speak, warm breath fanning across your face. “May I take you to bed?” He murmured, tracing across the silky plane of your jaw. His excitement began to grow, heart hammering within his chest.

In such close quarters to one another, you noticed the faint dusting of freckles along the bridge of his nose, spreading just underneath his eyes. You pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “You may.” Eagerness replaced any nervousness you were experiencing, then and there.

Jacaerys found your hand, twining his digits with your own as the two of you inched toward your bed. It was plush, lined with furs and enough blankets to warm the Seven Kingdoms. He stood at the precipice of a cliff, preparing to dive headfirst — and it felt incredible.

He watched with bated breath, rapturous and enamored as your digits settled along the many ties of your outer robes. You began the sluggish process of untethering each one until the garment loosened, enough for you to shrug it aside and drape it over the chest at the foot of your bed.

Even with the veil of sheer, silky fabric, Jacaerys quietly admired your physique, shapely and beautiful in every way imaginable. “You are perfect,” Jace uttered, hands coming to settle around your hips, searching for any sign of hesitation on your end. “Beautiful.” He exhaled, feeling you coax him in for another kiss.

Through the slip of silk and gossamer, Jacaerys deftly felt his way along your body, taking his time savoring you. Every curve and dip, every little detail he committed to memory, lost within a sea of you. Your kiss became passionate, and he was more than happy to reciprocate, the intensity burning between you both.

Jace felt your fingers tease the hem of his tunic, enough to elicit a subtle gasp from him. The sensation of your flesh against his caused goosebumps to spread from where your digits brushed against his waist. He released you for a moment, long enough for him to assist you in removing his nightshirt.

A pang of admiration struck at your stomach, breath hitching within your throat. He was pretty — well-muscled for a young man, with sunkissed skin, smatterings of freckles along his shoulders. Jacaerys felt your lips press against the hollow of his throat, warmth fanning out from the simple contact.

“I want to take care of you, if you’ll let me.” Jace murmured, insistent on pleasuring you above all else. He knew very little of what ensued between a woman and a man within the confines of their bedchambers outside of the simple act itself, but it was easy to imagine.

Your lips parted, heat sinking into your bones as you reached for his curled tresses, digits slipping through his soft, dark locks. “Yes”, Your voice was barely above a whisper as you coaxed him in for another kiss, one charged with arousal and desire. “I want you, Jace.”

The heady, wanton way in which you spoke his name caused him to shiver, bare chest pressed snugly against your own. Even the veil of silken fabric could not hide your supple frame from him, the peaks of your breasts soft and pliant.

His kiss was so gentle — it was charged with lust despite its tame nature, not that you minded. You felt his hands fall to your hips, melding into your curves before he began to gather the fabric within his hands. Jacaerys looked to you before continuing, and you gave him a nod to signal your approval.

Silky gossamer slowly crawled up the length of your legs as Jace gathered your gown, sliding it upward. You couldn’t fight against the onslaught of molten heat that churned violently within your stomach, shamelessly pooling between your legs.

Jacaerys hesitated, likely thinking of what to do next. He had been educated on what consummation was, the act of making an heir — but there was more to it, more of you to explore. Curiosity consumed him as he placed his palm atop the bare skin of your thigh, using the other to ease you down onto your bed.

He sat beside you, leg to leg as he continued to push your nightgown up toward your hips, skirts gathering around the middle of your thighs. “May I?” Jace’s voice seemed to grow husky with arousal, desire burning its way through his veins.

Instead, you gingerly took a hold of his hand, guiding it underneath your gown as you parted your legs enough to allow him unhindered access. He caressed you wherever he could, shuddering when you held the trail of your nightgown in one hand to push it up around your hips.

You nearly squeaked when his palm brushed along your inner thigh, lips parting with a sharp exhale. Jace moved closer, as close as he could as his mouth graced your neck, digits inching toward the slick heat between your legs. When he found it, you let out a simpering whine, reaching for his forearm.

A hushed moan escaped you as two digits trailed across your cunt, exploratory and feather-light. Your hips canted forward into the sensation, desiring more — and Jace obliged, pushing both fingers inward until they slipped past your folds.

“Jace,” You whispered, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to pepper strings of sweet kisses along your neck, gown sagging enough to let him kiss your shoulder. “Do not stop, please.” That breathy plea exuded some power over him, and he was enthralled, prepared to do whatever you asked of him.

“Is that alright?” Jacaerys asked, digits becoming a touch more vigorous as he stroked at your slit, surprised at how wet you were. If it were a common thing, he would know what to expect in the future. His thumb grazed your clit, and you gasped.

With a soft hum of approval, you nodded, shifting your legs apart just a little more. “Y—Yes,” Absentmindedly, your fingers slipped from the taut muscle of his forearm to his hand, the one wedged underneath your gown. “I — Like this.” You instructed him to touch you how you had touched yourself.

Jacaerys watched through a half-lidded stare, beyond entranced with you. You were beautiful — so painfully ethereal that it made him want to kneel before you, a goddess made to be worshiped. You adjusted his fingers, ensuring that his thumb pressed against your clit with continuous pressure.

Despite his nonexistent experience, he was doing wonders for you — he was attentive and willing to learn your body as you saw fit. He was so handsome, lips curling into an affectionate smile before he kissed your jaw, digits continuing from where they’d left off.

Your palm fell across his thigh, nails beginning to dig themselves into the muscle there as he touched your clit, digits tracing around the rest of your cunt. The candlelight highlighted his features in such perfect detail, the illumination slight.

Reverence seeped into each action, every stroke of his fingers evoking a string of whimpers from you. He was passionate and careful, willing to learn your body better than you. He continued to caress your clit, the sensation sending jolts of electricity throughout your body.

His name became your prayer, devolving into desperate moans and whispered pleas as you rocked your hips into the sensation of his hand. “Jacaerys,” You sighed with passion, feeling the stirring within your stomach. Arousal consumed every part of you, just as it did him. “Jace.”

The dark-haired Prince let out a soft groan into the hollow of your throat, wanting you more than anything, and the hand you had perched atop his thigh did little to ease the fever. He kissed your neck again, scarlet-faced and beyond eager, whispering sweet nothings in High Valyrian against your skin.

Excitement and the heat of the moment seemed to get to you, as you used one hand to sloppily unlace the leather ties of his trousers. You wanted to touch him too, let him feel exactly how you felt — how he made you feel.

Jace shivered, not objecting, but he wanted to focus on you above all else. “What about you?” He asked, feeling his cock twitch with want. The ache he had for you was almost painful, threatening to tear him apart if he couldn’t find relief.

“Together,” You suggested, turning enough to crawl into his lap, much to his delight. Jacaerys held you steady, lips clamoring together in a messy flurry of tongue and adoration. It was the anticipation of youth — the desire and sentiments overrode everything else, made duty disappear. “You are perfect.”

His brief smile made all of your worry dissipate, fading into mere background noise. Your hands returned to the leather ties of his breeches once more, sluggishly loosening them. Jace steeled himself, a fire burning within his belly as you reached down.

A low, satisfied groan tore past his lips when your hand gently wrapped around his cock, searching his visage for any sign of discomfort. There was none — only desire, lust festering within his gaze. He resumed touching you, digits circling your clit once more.

Within your delicate grasp, his length hardened, your palm finding a careful rhythm. Your hips twitched, rolling into the sensation of his hand. It was heavenly — the way in which he handled you was gallant and gentle. Arousal continued to gather between your thighs, a new and sticky feeling.

Intermingled gasps and groans filled the air, the both of you clinging to one another. Jacaerys leaned forward, mouth seeking yours, the kiss hot and gentle. Between your careful, uncertain strokes along his length and his digits teasing your cunt, the both of you were lost within the throes of passion.

He slipped his other hand underneath your nightgown, with enough leverage to remove it, if he so desired. Jacaerys broke the kiss long enough to ask, chest heaving with heavier breaths. “May I?” He whispered, voice husky and hoarse with lust.

You nodded, maneuvering your arms over your head as your nightgown slipped to the floor, leaving you bare before Jacaerys. The saltwater breeze which fluttered through your quarters left you shivering, both from the brief chill and anticipation.

The awestruck way in which he stared at you left you hot, body feverish beneath his tempered gaze. He kissed your collarbone, eyes warm and affectionate. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He stated, nearly breathless. His heart was yours — every fiber of his being devoted itself to you.

Smitten beneath his sweetly-spoken compliments, you trailed your fingers throughout his soft curls. The other slyly descended to reach for his cock again, but Jacaerys seemed to place your hand aside. You seemed confused, head canting to one side. “Do you not like it?”

His bemused chuckle filled your chambers, amiable and as warm as a cozy hearth. “Of course I like it,” Jacaerys murmured, kissing along your jaw and neck, holding you as close as he could. “I’d like to focus on you. There’s something that I wanted to try, if you’ll allow it.”

Surprised, you seemed open to whatever he wanted to try. “Anything you want, you will have. It’s yours.” You expected him to put you on your knees or turn you on your stomach. Instead, he coaxed you down onto your back, getting you to lay down as he crawled between your parted legs.

His mouth pressed a string of affectionate kisses along your shoulder and collarbone, beginning to dip lower toward the perky swell of your breasts. You squirmed slightly, uncertain of where this would lead to. You trusted Jace to follow his own instinct.

Your back arched when his mouth graced your breast, pressing kisses all around the pliant flesh. A moan escaped you, signaling your pleasure as he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, gingerly suckling on the pebbled bud.

“Jace,” You squeaked, one hand flying to his mountain of dark curls, pushing your fingers through. He touched you in a way that evoked a sense of yearning, as if you were the only woman in the realm. His hand kneaded into your chest, a shiver coursing through him whenever you moaned his name. “Please.”

Heat simmered through him, a wave of desire that only seemed to grow in intensity, demanding to be extinguished. Your flesh tasted saccharine upon his tongue, but there was something else he wanted to taste. As he kissed your chest, he released his lips from your breast, continuing his descent.

He kissed you everywhere, reverence seeping into each brush of his mouth as he traversed your body. Jacaerys pressed his lips against your stomach, and then to your hips, palms sliding against your thighs.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he peppered a string of kisses along the inside of your thigh, showering you in little pecks of affection before he flattened himself entirely. You swallowed the lump within your throat; the sight of Jace’s face wedged in between your legs made you shiver, arousal following suit.

Everything was gentle, even the way in which his veined hands gripped the pliant flesh of your thighs to let them rest against his shoulders. He hesitated, allowing you a moment to adjust and steel yourself before he dipped forward, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt.

The singular, experimental stroke of his tongue caused you to shiver, hands curling into fists. If you could melt away into your furs, you would’ve, feeling his mouth press kisses against your core. “Jace,” You whined, attempting to hold still and cease your squirming. “Don’t stop.”

It was all the encouragement he truly needed, digits soothingly caressing along your thighs as he began to lap at your cunt, adopting a pace that was a little less sluggish. He nearly groaned when he felt your hand grasp at his curled tresses, sinking in toward the base of his skull.

In the nighttime gloom of Dragonstone, you found warmth and comfort in one another — affections intensified, and whatever bond you had before was now redefined entirely. Jacaerys loved you, he had never been more sure of himself until now, dutifully bringing about your pleasure.

A myriad of soft whimpers and whines escaped you, hand gingerly tugging on Jace’s hair as he buried his mouth in the apex of your thighs. His tongue vigorously lapped and traced over your core, savoring your taste, committing it to memory. Bathed in moonlight, Jace appeared more ethereal than ever, the muscles flexing within his back.

With slow, eager laps of his tongue, Jacaerys made sure to savor you, letting it flick across your clit. The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit. The continued sensation of your digits carding through his curls made him sigh with elation.

He brought you closer, heart leaping into his throat when you began to writhe beneath him, hips tilting forward into each stroke of his mouth. “You’re perfect,” Jacaerys whispered, ensuring that you could hear it. Soft utterances of High Valyrian were etched into the flesh of your thigh. “Perfect.”

Blossoming beneath his sweet compliments, your fingers curled against his scalp, unable to lay still as Jace resumed his previous ministrations. The warmth of his tongue left you with a blistering want, stomach churning with a wave of arousal.

As he lapped at your clit again, you whimpered, moaning his name as if to keep his attention there. Jacaerys’s tender expression also bore a great deal of concentration, dark eyes flickering toward you. “There?” He uttered, hoping that you would guide him to where he needed to be.

Your head bobbed up and down against the furs, flesh beginning to glisten with the first inklings of perspiration. Everything felt feverishly hot, as if you would be turned to ash where you sat. Jacaerys was attentive and loving, following your breathy plea as he pursed his lips around the pearl of your cunt.

Jace shivered at the sounds you made, enticed by each whimper and moan, every twitch of your body. He suckled on the sensitive bundle of nerves, alternating between that and greedy, vigorous laps of his tongue. He let himself be lost within bliss, arousal mounting from pleasuring you.

You reached for his hand, fingers interlocking atop the swell of your hip as he continued to lap at your aching core. He squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance, buried deep within your sweet cunt, something that he wanted to have again and again.

He was at your mercy, the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone — and you hadn’t the slightest clue. Jace’s brow creased in concentration as he focused on what spots made you squirm the most, continuing to dutifully lap at your clit until your knees trembled.

“Jace,” A needy moan left you, reverberating within the obsidian confines of your chambers. Arousal rushed through you, molten heat oozing from between your thighs, a nectar as sweet as honey. “I—I think I’m close.” You groaned, unsure if it was just the throes of ecstasy or reality.

Nevertheless, you were on the verge of reaching your peak, and you didn’t want him to stop. Instead, you urged his head forward, fingers laced within his dark curls, right at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys groaned in delight, thoroughly enjoying the way you continued to coax him inward — he happily devoured every drop.

With another barrage of his tongue assaulting your cunt, you whimpered, turning malleable within Jace’s hands. He knew that you were on the verge, and so he pursed his lips around your clit once more, and that was more than enough.

His name emerged from your lips like a reverent prayer, the only name that you knew in that moment. Your release was hot, like a rush of fire that didn’t simmer immediately. The residual sensation lingered, and Jace helped you through it.

Your thighs twitched, absentmindedly attempting to clench together, but Jace held you apart, soothing you with kisses along your thighs. The blissful, contented expression that soon followed was a beautiful one — Jace was shocked to know that he could do that to you, bring you to ruin.

His gallant smile gave you pause as you studied the rosy flush within his features, the glistening sheen of your arousal upon his lips. Jacaerys seemed entirely unphased, basking in your aftermath all the same, his curls tousled and disheveled.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Your tone was sheepish, realizing how much you’d tugged at his hair. If it were you, a tender-headed maiden, you would’ve been batting his hand away. Jace’s bemused chuckle caused you to duck your head.

Jace disarmed you with a charming, doting smile and a simple look of those earthen-brown eyes of his, and shook his head. “You could never hurt me,” He replied, his attempt at gentle flirtation. “I worry more for you.” His confession was soft-spoken.

The act of consummation was not intended to be a comfortable one — for a woman, at least. Jacaerys knew to broach this with care, to make sure that you were well enough before all else. He inched forward from between your thighs, resting his head atop your stomach.

He allowed you a moment of composure, feeling your digits trace the lines of his countenance, stroke at his tresses. Jace pressed a string of kisses all around your body, wherever his lips could reach. The moment was incredibly tender, lingering with the tension of a blossoming ardor.

Through the comfortable haze of silence, you cleared your throat, staring down at Jacaerys with what only could be described at a look of complete and utter adoration. He was so kind, so noble and gentle, yet with the fervor of the dragon’s blood, a desire to do good. You felt so fortunate, even moreso when he smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your hip.

“I want you, Jacaerys,” You whispered, watching as Jace began to sit up, letting your legs trap him on either side. “More than I’ve ever wanted anyone else.” It was the hitch within his throat that made you shiver, heart hammering beneath your breast as you began to confess your feelings — it was inevitable.

Jace reveled at the sight of you, naked and glimmering within the moonlit dusk, candlelight bathing your physique in shades of flickering orange. His descent was slow as he covered you with his body, lips parting to allow a shaky exhale before he kissed your brow. “You have my heart,” He uttered, forehead resting against yours. “Everything I am, is yours.”

Your palms moved to cup either side of his face, thumbs caressing along his cheekbones before you smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I am yours.” You assured, your commitment resolute before the Gods — before Jacaerys Velaryon.

It was a poignant moment, one that seemed intermingled with the seriousness of your words, yet still tinged with the youthful excitement of a first love. He kissed you, slow and amorous, full of an unrestrained affection that no longer seemed weighed-down by unspoken sentiments.

“Are you certain that this is what you want?” Jace asked, his voice a soft caress through your haze of kisses. He would not fault you if you wanted to stop now — and he would if you wished it of him. As much as he desired you, he valued your virtue above his own.

“Yes,” You replied, your palms gliding from his soft visage to the taut muscle of his shoulders, lacing your fingers around the back of his neck. “Are you certain, too? I worry that you might regret lying with me.”

Jacaerys shook his head, brows furrowing together to reflect a semblance of disbelief. He reached down to caress your cheek, making sure that you understood every word. “Nothing in the world would ever make me regret this,” He murmured. “I’ve never been more certain about anything before.”

A brief stirring of adoration fluttered within your chest, and you knew that you wanted no one else ever again. You pulled yourself off of the mattress enough to kiss him, sinking into the sweet bliss of the moment as he reciprocated. His mouth moved in-tandem with yours, eyes beginning to flutter shut.

His hands planted themselves into the feathered pillow on either side of your head, but it didn’t last long. Jacaerys leaned back, maneuvering out of the leather of his trousers, flush against you once they were removed. You were so soft, like an ocean of silk beneath him.

He felt one of your legs hitch around his hips, bodies together beneath the furs. The chill of your chambers dissipated, replaced by the warmth of your skin. You kept your hands poised against his shoulders, dancing across the smattering of freckles there as you continued to kiss him, as if each one would be your last.

The hardened swell of his cock pressed against your lower stomach, and you could feel his breath grow heavier between kisses. He was perfect — flawless, so handsome that it made you ache with want.

Jace kissed you again and again, feeling the soft peaks of your breasts brush against his chest. He adjusted his weight, shifted his hips as he pressed the head of his length against your slick cunt. He was somewhat nervous — perhaps not as much as you, but anxious enough. He made sure to be careful, feeling your legs nudge themselves apart.

A look of mutual preparedness passed between you both, between your doe-eyed gaze of anticipation and Jace’s mounting look of want, there was little room left for uncertainty. He sat up enough to position himself against your aching core, his cock splitting past your folds before it prodded at your entrance.

You steeled yourself, and Jace made sure to be slow, afraid of hurting you enough to cause true discomfort. As he tilted forward, his length filled you, sheathing himself inside of you, inch by inch. Admittedly, it wasn’t a good feeling — not initially, anyway.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he bottomed out, staying still atop you as he allowed you time to grow accustomed to him. Waves of complete and utter bliss rolled through him, his own pleasure nearly overwhelming. You were tight, maidenhead intact for the next few moments until he began to move.

“Are you alright?” Jace whispered around the shell of your ear, pressing against you once more as he reassuringly kissed along the side of your face. He felt despicable for causing you any amount of pain, but you seemed to dismiss his concern.

“I am,” You placated him with a smile, coaxing him in for a kiss. It was best if you didn’t think about it — and with time, it would feel better. Everything was awkward and clumsy, the follies of youth, but as Jace began to move, a fire began to burn within your belly. “Jace.” You sighed, keeping your leg around his hips.

A soft groan resonated beside your ear as Jace adopted a sluggish rhythm, not wanting to intensify things so quickly. Your eyes fluttered shut, body content to bend to his thrusts, grow accustomed to the act itself. He reciprocated your kiss, black curls falling in front of his temples.

Bliss soon replaced discomfort, the more you allowed yourself to adjust. You shifted your legs further apart, one hand falling toward his bicep, the other remaining tangled at the nape of his neck. The sounds of your lovemaking soon filled your chambers, with your foreheads pressed together.

Your name fell from his tongue in a needy groan, and it made you shiver, body reacting with a barrage of gooseflesh along your spine. Perspiration grew upon his brow as he maintained his pace, digits curling into the furs on either side of you.

The sound of your pleasured moans made him feel better, a sign that you were no longer riddled with soreness and irritation. Jace pressed a trail of hot, messy kisses along your face, reaching to the sweet spot beneath your jaw. He kept himself anchored there, feeling your hand squeeze at his bicep.

“Jace!” You squeaked, flushed at the growing lewdness of the noises — the squelching, the passionate groans and heavy breathing. He was perfect, cock filling you in a way that left you completely satisfied. Jace felt your hand fall away from his bicep, reaching for his own, interlocked hands falling back against the cushions.

He shuddered, reveling in the way your cunt tightened around him, the sensation of your hand within his hair, hands joined at your side. Jace’s pace began to quicken, but only somewhat, enough to really feel the myriad of pleasure take hold.

You yearned for him in every way imaginable; your body ached with each movement, every thrust as he leisurely moved in and out of you. His cock pulsated with a dull throbbing, enough to fill his belly with a raging fire. He kissed you again, lips traversing wherever they saw fit, peppering every inch of your sweet skin.

Time seemed to move agonizingly slow in your presence — Jacaerys wouldn’t want it any other way. If he could capture this moment, he would’ve. Every moment was graced by a warm intimacy that sank into his very bones, his adoration for you furthered with each roll of his hips, sheathing himself inside of you.

His soft lips graced your collarbone, continuing to make love to you in the only way he knew how. It was passionate and gentle, in a way reserved for the deepest of lovers. Jace grunted when your hips involuntarily rolled upward to grind against him, lips parting as he squeezed your hand.

At last, he lifted his head, your eyes locking together. Your countenance was exceptionally beautiful, especially when painted with the shade of desire, and it had him aching with want. His jaw tensed when you brushed dark curls away from his eyes, palm lingering long enough to pull him down for a kiss.

His cock continued to hit your cunt with a tame fervor, filling you completely, testing your limits as he neared his peak. Jacaerys knew that there would be more moments like these in the future — his energy was waning, and perhaps, the unfamiliarity of it all contributed to this.

Your name spilled from his tongue, throat echoing with a soft groan as his pace became slightly erratic. It was difficult to control himself amidst chasing after his release, but he maintained what little composure he had, gritting his teeth together as he thrust into you again.

Pleasure contorted into ecstasy, becoming an unstoppable wave that was quick to take hold of him. Concentration intermingled with bliss were etched into his features, face pressing against yours, nearly breathless as you kissed him again.

With a groan, Jacaerys rocked forward again, spilling himself inside of you. In hindsight, it was both brazen and feckless, done in the heat of the moment, but he cared little of it for the time being. His cock throbbed, thrusting into you again a time or two before he stilled completely.

Heavy pants resonated between you both as you caught your breath, flush against one another in the aftermath. You pressed a kiss against Jace’s cheek, trailing your fingers throughout his hair. He was quick to kiss you, gathering his composure before he pulled himself out of you.

A rush of sticky warmth slathered the inside of your thighs, leaving behind a feeling of slight discomfort. Jace gathered a cloth for you to clean yourself with, returning to lay beside you as he rucked the furs up around your bodies. The air was colder at nightfall, injected with a saltwater mist.

“I apologize if I hurt you,” Jacaerys uttered, dark brows furrowing together as you wriggled closer, resting your head atop his bare chest. Your arm draped over him, allowing yourself to be close, a feeling that he wanted more than anything else. “It was not my intention.” He kissed the top of your head.

“You didn’t,” You replied, tracing soft patterns against his skin, angling your head up enough to kiss him. Jace cupped your jaw, leaning in to deepen the tender entanglement, lost within the bliss of your lips. “You would never hurt me.”

Jacaerys was fiercely protective over you, that much was true — even from himself. He kept an arm wrapped around you, cradling you at his side as he gazed into your eyes. He could see you, then — his beloved wife, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps it was too early to tell, but he knew.

As the both of you settled in together, your maidenhead now lost, you couldn’t help but smile. Jacaerys had made your first experience more than anyone ever could — you hoped that it would stay that way forever. “Does your offer of teaching High Valyrian still stand?” You mused.

A huff of amusement left Jacaerys as he turned his head enough to look at you, a smile playing at either corner of his mouth. “I thought you wanted those dusty old books.” Admittedly, his offering of those damned texts is what started this in the first place — he had to be grateful.

“I knew that you would be kind enough to bring them to me,” You confessed, nose wrinkling in amusement. “An excuse to see you.” The look on Jace’s face was one of theatrical shock, and you erupted into a fit of laughter when he squeezed your hip.

“You might grow tired of me, if I am to teach you High Valyrian.” Jacaerys mused, his smile one of complete and utter warmth. Anyone would know that his love for you was obvious — there wasn’t any subtlety about it.

You shook your head, comfortably sinking against him, your upper body lounging atop him. “I could never grow tired of you, Jacaerys Velaryon.” You exhaled, exhaustion beginning to grip you. It was bound to happen eventually, given the abnormally late hour.

Jace was thankful that you weren’t looking — his face was dusted with a rather obvious layer of pink, and yet, the feeling was beyond satisfying. The two of you allowed the silence to sink through, accompanied by the sound of the encroaching tide as it broke upon the jagged rock and cliff sides surrounding Dragonstone.

“Will you stay?” You asked, hoping that he would be agreeable to it. It was a risky proposition, but Jace knew that he couldn’t leave you after this — he didn’t want to, either. No one would come clamoring about within his chambers at first light.

“Of course,” He murmured, lips twitching into a sweet smile. “Though, I should go at the first light of dawn.” Jace’s tone was one of clear disappointment, but it was best to keep suspicions low. You knew that he had duties that transcended you — he was the Prince of Dragonstone, the heir — and you were not betrothed.

A sense of understanding settled onto your features, but you still wanted him by your side — you wished that you could wake up next to him. “I hope that dawn never comes, then.” You whispered, taking his hand within yours as you pressed a kiss against his palm, knowing that there would be many more dawns to come with him at your side.

copyright @ swordgrace; please do not translate, steal, or copy my works and post them onto other platforms or claim as your own.

[bluejelly8]

Needless to say i am enjoying the ever loving FUCK out of The Fall of the House of Usher. I went from having a normal day to running around like a rabid dog and shaking my head as i tear apart my favorite chew toy

[fanfictionera]

My Queen (BuckyxReader) Smut

A/N: I have always wanted to write a Sex Pollen fic but every time I tried to write one it didn't feel right. Finally I started writing and the vibes started flowing. I wanted filthy smut but with emotion and feeling and I hope that I achieved that. Either way I am super proud of this and I hope readers enjoy!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Synopsys: The reader and Bucky are sent on a mission where they are exposed to what is referred to as Sex Pollen. Their feelings for each other are forced to be faced.

Word Count: 6,218

Warnings: Sex Pollon, Friends to Lovers, forced sex (due to drugs), sprinkle of Angst, Bucky, SMUT, SMUT SMUT SMUT. SO LITTLE PLOT.

My Queen

Bucky stood in the back of the Quinjet, checking over his person. It was like a ritual for him, starting from the top he would check every strap and belt, double check each gun and knife blade. His body swayed, compensating for the slight lurch of the Quinjet before it leveled out.

“And we have touched down,” Y/N said from the pilot's seat, with a press of a button her chair spun around. She came up behind Bucky gently tugging on his back harness. The back of the Quinjet dropped down, revealing several structures in a clearing, surrounded by trees. They began to make their way to the larger building in the center. The clearing was shrouded in a dark gray filter as the misty fog creeped its way through the trees, under a sky blanketed by cloud cover, reclaimed by nature. A scan showed no signs of human life, which was little in the way of relief.

They silently approached the front door before stepping into the building. A home. The remnants of one anyway. They entered the kitchen, with a table still made. Flowers in a porcelain milk jug left dead, wilted and dried in the center. A plate sat next to a folded newspaper. Y/N could feel the shift in the air as soon as they walked in. The weight of the secrets of the house, hidden behind the semblance of a quiet life, mixed with the pure evil that seeped from its walls in tendrils made Y/N uneasy. 

They progressed through the first and second level of the home. Although every surface was covered in a thick layer of dust each room sat pristine, frozen in time as if the owner just ceased to exist. One of many of Hydra’s calling cards.

They made their way back outside and to the side of the house. Y/N turned scanning the tree line as Bucky yanked and cleared away brush that covered the storm doors nestled against the house. Nature revealed the chained and padlocked metal doors.

Bucky pulled the chain, breaking it in his metal hands. The parts slipped through his fingers like sand. The doors opened with a gut dropping creek revealing a set of stairs leading down into a dirt floor cellar. 

“Ladies First.” He waved his hand as he motioned his hand forward, his eyes scanning behind Y/N. 

She walked forward, “What a gentleman.”

The cellar was packed hard, the air was stale and stagnant. The wooden shelves that lined the stone wall held glass jars full of canned food. 

Bucky walked to the corner, moving a basket out of the way, revealing a hatch. 

The ladder led down to a concrete room, with the only doorway being a gated elevator shaft. An electrical box was mounted on the wall. Bucky opened it and began to check it over before pulling the large handle down. It made a large metallic thunk as Bucky forced the handle down. A soft wiring noise began to buzz.

Bucky pulled the metal gate to the side, ushering Y/N into the car, he closed the gate after he stepped on and reached for the hand crank on the side. Slowly the metal gears began to move and creak as the elevator descended. “Why does every Hydra base have a creepy elevator?” Y/N asked as she took in the rust-streaked walls of the shaft illuminated by dingy yellowing lights that flickered as they warmed up. 

“Günter did suggest rainbows and butterflies, but as you can see, he was outvoted.” Y/N tried to hide her smile as she rolled her eyes.

The elevator came to a stop as it reached the bottom of the shaft, pulling the gate aside again, they found themselves in a storm of destruction “What is this place?”

“It's a lab, was a lab.” Bucky looked around, “I don't believe I was ever here, but it's where they developed all kinds of fun.”

They began to clear the room, flashlight in hand. Tables sat disheveled and tipped over, their contents scattered. Papers littered every surface like confetti. Various medical equipment and hardware mixed and mingled with the papers, while every box of a computer was shattered or broken. As if someone punched every screen. Several lighting fixtures hung from the ceiling, attached by a few wires, while others found their way to the floor. Bucky held a dangling light to the side, letting Y/N walk through before following.

She scanned the room as she took another step, a loud popping crunch noise made her jump, she looked down, lifting her foot, to see the glass shards sprayed across the floor. 

Bucky laughed as he pushed past her. “You’ve been playing to many zombie games,”

“Shut up.” She walked behind him.

Bucky laughed again as he held his arms out, doing his best zombie impression, ‘Brainsss.” He turned to grab her head. “No brainsssss”

Y/N shoved him playfully, "Can we just do this and get the hell out of here?" Bucky chuckled as he clicked on his flashlight and continued sweeping the lab with a smug smile on his face. Y/N wasn't going to lie, nothing about this place made her feel good. She wasn't sure if it was because of its history or its current state, either way she was very much looking forward to leaving. 

As they continued into the next room, Y/N eyes came to rest on Bucky’s back. They trailed across his harness, how it spanned across his wide shoulders. The dim lights still highlighted the muscular lines built into the metal of his arm. Bucky paused for a moment, pivoting on his heel to double check a dark corner. His face was concentrated, eyes trained. She couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to have them trained on her. 

She shook her head, focus, she mouthed to herself. With the room cleared they were moving forward again; her eyes came to the back of his head and down his back. They slowly trailed down to his ass, framed perfectly in his tactical pants, the seams accentuating his curve. 

Suddenly Bucky stopped, looking up at a mess of chains, “Let’s see what's behind door number one.” He put his flashlight between his teeth as he began to roll his sleeve up his flesh arm. 

Y/N watched, entranced by the simple action, she glanced up to see Bucky watching her. He smiled around the flashlight; he reached up with this metal hand taking the source of light. He took several steps toward her before bringing his hand up to her jaw.

“That’s what does it for you?” he swiped his thumb against her bottom lip before swiping his thumb down, pulling her lip with it. “Is it my arm?”

She nodded.

“Or is it my fingers?” Her eyes dilated as Bucky chuckled leaning forward, “Do you want my fingers?” She could feel his breath against her skin as he walked behind her, his flesh hand reaching around, grasping the toggle of her zipper. She could hear each tooth unzip as he pulled the zipper down its full length. The coolness of the metal left a tingling sensation as he followed in the zipper wake, his palm slid down her stomach, closer to her aching core. Her breathing became heavy as her head began to spin.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice sounded firm, the look of concern evident “Are you okay?”

The world came crashing back in a blink of her eye. Her eyes snapped open to find Bucky standing in front of her, still messing with the chains. She shook her head trying to shake off the ghost feeling of his touch. Y/N took a deep breath, her brow began to pull together, "Do you smell that?” She takes another deep breath through her nose, “It's almost sweet, floral, its faint.”

Bucky looked at her puzzled, the air around them smelled musty and old. Then the realization hit him. "Shit.” With the chains forgotten, Bucky grabbed her arm and pulled her back down where they came, “Where is that vile you stepped on?”

His touch was distracting, “Over, over there, I think?" He let go of her, "What's going on?” Y/N asked as Bucky began searching the ground.

He turned still looking, “Just, please, we need to find it.”

She walked back over a row and kicked a pile of papers, a cracked vile rolled out, “It's right here.” The end was still intact, the label holding the shards together.

Copulation Stimulant 

Y/N’s eyes read over the label, “Is this?” She looked back down again hoping she read it wrong, “This is, oh my god--no-no-no-no.” She dropped the vile again, the realization setting in, her hands coming to her face as she rambled, “I can't do this, this has to be some cruel joke. Yeah? It’s labeled wrong? I can’t actually fuck my best friend…I can't--”

11-197020-43

“Oh, come on now,” As Y/N began to spiral Bucky knelt down to confirm his suspicion, "Best Friend!?" He tried to joke, to keep Y/N with him. "Nat might fight me for that title."

"Stop. I'm serious. You don't understand," She began shaking slightly, overwhelmed as the tears began to fall down her cheek. 

Bucky's smug smile dropped from his face as he took in Y/N’s state, his eyebrows knitted together.

Y/N's chest tightened as she looked up at him. “I can’t fuck my best friend because I’m in love with my best friend."

"Sweetheart" The word came out of Bucky’s mouth like an exhale as he took in her words. 

“Oh my god, am I going to fuck my best friend, who I’m in love with, for the first time in a dingy old Hydra base." Y/N's mind was moving a million miles a second. A heat began to spread from her core, she took a deep breath. 

“Come on,” Bucky gently grabbed her arm, "Not here, let's get back to the Quinjet, okay?”

Y/N shook her head as she let Bucky lead her out of the bunker. She could feel the heat spreading throughout her body, like water slowly trickling down through the soil, saturating each grain as it was pulled down by gravity. It felt invasive. 

The Quinjet bay door began to close as Bucky climbed into the pilot's chair. Y/N sat in the back, her breath becoming heavy. "I'm getting really hot." 

“Like little pin pricks of heat all over your skin?" The Quinjet shook slightly as it rose into the sky.

"Yeah-h" Y/N said as a sheen of sweat began to cover her face. 

"It's hitting you faster." He quickly flipped some switches before getting up out of the chair, he grabbed a med kit duffle bag out of the closet before kneeling in front of her.

Y/N's brow slowly pulled together, "Why?"

"It's designed for super soldiers." Bucky began as he pulled out and cracked a jelly ice pack, instantly making it cold before placing it on her neck. "Which means it's stronger for you."

Y/N felt the sting of the cold radiate, "Okay, okay…okay. What's going to happen?" Her head swirled as she placed her hand over his that held the ice pack, grounding herself. “Be honest.”

Bucky took a deep breath, unable to pull his gaze from her pleading one. "Your adrenaline will slowly rise, until your heart feels like it's going to burst and every cell in your body is vibrating." He flipped the ice pack to the other side of her neck. "It's going to alter chemicals in your brain, driving up your sex drive and arousal." His chest began to heave as he began to feel the effects. “At the same time, it will lower your inhibitions and block all sense of self control.”

Y/N took a deep breath through her nose. "And sex is the only way?"

"No, we can ride this out." Bucky said as he also breathed deep. "It will be torture, an ache of a pain that will thunder through your existence. Every second you resist will feel like one second closer to death, but it won't kill you."

Y/N fought through another wave of heat before responding, "I don't know what to do. It's getting hard to think."

"Yeah." Bucky knew what was to come. How many hours they would have to endure if they waited it out. He dropped the ice pack, now warm, before bringing his hands up to the sides of Y/N's face, pulling her focus back. "Listen to me," He took a moment, “Never in a million years would I have wanted this to be our first time." He let out another grunt as he fought another wave, a smirk appeared through it. "I planned on asking you out, on a real date, before I led you to my bed. To treat you like a queen. My queen.” Tears threatened the corners of Y/N's eyes. Her heart was beating in her ears, and it felt like years as they leaned forward, their foreheads resting against each other. “If we do this now, it won't be like that, you need to know once I start, I will not be able to stop. You will not be able to stop."

Her fingers came up dragging down the edge of his scruff-covered jaw line. “I understand. I trust you, please, I trust you.”

The moment his lips touched hers everything stopped. Bucky physically felt Y/N's body relax as her lips began to move against his. She snaked her hands up his chest and behind his neck before pulling herself off the back of the chair and as close to him as she could. 

Y/N got lost in the intense high created, everything slowed down and hazed over. A dull, mind numbing, wave of emotions swirled in her brain as all sense of time was lost till eventually it wound itself into a ball and exploded against the back of her eyelids. The heat began to fade, leaving a chill across her skin. Her head felt empty and tired. Mentally she couldn't string two coherent thoughts together. Her body felt loose, and her eyes watered as a tear slid down. 

"Hey, it's over." Bucky was catching his breath as he held her head in his hand, looking into her eyes, "it's over," her gaze was distant. 

"Shit." Bucky held onto her, held her close as he began rummaging through the duffle bag, "Come on, there you are." Bucky returned to Y/N, "Y/N, doll, I need you to take this. It will help, can you do that?"

Y/N Glanced down at the small syringe in his hand, "What is it?" The words slurred and tired.

"It will let you sleep till we get back and Bruce can help." Bucky replied softly. 

The tears began to stream down her face, "I'm feeling everything. At once."

“I know. It’s the drug, a side effect.” Bucky took her hand, “Sleep will help.”

“Okay,” Y/N shook her head as she sniffled. Within moments of the liquid entering her blood stream, Y/N's eyes became heavy, and her body relaxed as she drifted off. Bucky gently maneuvered her, placing her on her side across several seats. He fixed her suit, now ripped wide open from navel down to her exposed thighs, her breasts out on display. He pulled the sides of the fabric, covering her the best he could before he grabbed one of the packs of the on-board pillows and blankets, ripping it out of its packaging. He positioned the small pillow under her head and draped the blanket over her body before cleaning himself up and making his way to the cockpit. 

Bucky listened and waited for her to fall into a deep sleep before grabbing the headset. "Friday, please connect me with Steve and Bruce."

"Right away," Friday responded as two small transparent screens appeared in front of Bucky's face. 

Steve's face was scrunched as he slowly woke up, "Hey, what time is it?"

"Two." Bruce replied as he did a double take, pulling on his glasses, "In the morning."

"There's been a situation," Bucky's voice was low, Steve's attention was immediately caught, and he finally took in Bucky's appearance, "We came into contact…with a substance," Bucky looked back again making sure Y/N was still out, "It was developed by Hydra for their breeding program, they called it copulation stimulant, but everyone referred to it as sex pollen." As the Quinet silently made the trek back to the compound, Bucky filled them in.

Bucky tossed and turned in bed, he rolled over, sheets tangled around his legs and stared up at the ceiling. Taking a deep breath he reached over for his phone, the screen turned on showing it was only mid-morning. 

He rubbed his face before kicking his sheets off and sitting up on the edge of the bed. He stared down at his floor, his mind taking over sucking him back into that moment. Flashes of Y/N's face, filled with fear, overwhelmed with emotions and emptiness played on repeat. 

He blinked away the images as he made his way out of his room. Bucky walked down the hall towards Steve's room. 

Steve sat at his table; papers strewn about as he caught up on his paperwork. He heard the knock before Bucky walked in. 

"How are you feelin'?" Steve asked as Bucky slumped into a chair, aimlessly picking up a piece of paper, setting it back down, not interested. 

"How is she?" Is all Bucky asked. 

Steve pushed a tablet towards him, "Medically speaking, she's okay, nothing more than a few bruises."

Bucky looked down at the screen, a mission report, currently on the recorded incidents page. His eyes instantly skimmed and settled on Y/N's list of injuries before swiping through the rest of the report.

"I decided not to include the details." Steve continued as Bucky sat the tablet down with an exhale. Steve slowly set down the pen as he leaned back in his chair slightly. "Buck, how are you?"

"Angry." Bucky shook his head. "For me to go through it again, fine. But not her."

"Did Hydra use this stuff often?" Steve's brow pulled up softly. 

Bucky's lips flashed a sad smile with a huff of a laugh, "It cycled through. They called it a compliance tool." He looked at his friend, "Sometimes they would call it a reward." 

"Jesus." Steve let out under his breath. 

“They had an endless supply of compliance tools and rewards.” Bucky shrugged slightly, "I'm okay Steve, honestly.”

"I was going to go check on her in a bit.” Steve leaned forward and picked up his pen again as he glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Bruce gave her something to help her sleep more, rest is probably the best for her right now, so she probably won't be stirring for another hour or two." Bucky nodded his head slightly as Steve spoke.

Steve watched as Bucky began to slip back into his thoughts. "Hey," His voice pulled Bucky's eyes to him. "You guys will be dancing around each other again soon enough."

"I told her." Bucky's confession came out softly. "How I feel, right before I railed her brains out in a fit of uncontrollable horny rage." 

“I’m sorry, what?” Steve sat staring at his friend, “You thought, that after being exposed to a chemical weapon used to sexually exploit their victims, yeah this is a good time to confess my feelings to the woman I’ve been absolutely obsessed with since the first day I saw her?”

"Yup," Bucky popped the p, "In my defense she confessed first.”

“Unbelievable,” Steve pinched, “Why are you two like this?”

“In love? Or Insane?” Bucky asked back with a shrug,

Steve crossed his arms as he leaned back, “Go talk to her you jerk."

…

Y/N’s room was dark, every curtain pulled tight and not a single light was on. She had woken up several times only to roll over and fall back asleep, not wanting or ready to face the world yet. She lay on her belly, letting herself lay there, her head spiraling with thoughts. She grabbed for her phone, the brightness from the screen making her recoil, it was already close to two in the afternoon. She rolled back over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. 

“What's wrong with me?” She asked quietly to herself. 

She never wanted to experience sex pollen again, it scared her to her core to have her own free will taken away. Her heartbeat picked up as she thought about it, a panic slowly bubbling. She took a deep breath, “We can ride this out.” His words echoed in her head. “I wanted to take you out on a date. Treat you like a queen. My queen.” Her heart stuttered a moment as she took another deep breath. 

A knock at her door drew her attention. Slowly she rose from her bed, just as she approached the door another soft knock came. She reached for the handle and opened it to find Bucky standing with a paper bag in hand.

She stared at him, her words stuck in her throat, “Team ordered out, I got your favorite.” Bucky held the paper bag up. “I, um, I wanted to check in and.."  He paused as he shrugged.

Y/N could see the anxiety and pain behind his eyes. She stepped closer to him, her hands coming to the sides of his torso and sliding back, as she hugged him. 

As if on que Y/N stomach growled and she let out a small laugh. She pulled back, taking the bag from Bucky. “Thank you, I don't think I ate anything in the med bay when we got back.” She turned into the room, “Wanna come in?"

As Y/N walked back in, she flicked on a few lamps, creating a soft glow. Bucky closed the door behind him, unsure of what to do. Her desk was sitting just far away to be awkward but the only other place to sit would be her bed, somewhere he had never thought twice about before as he would just sit down or jump in. Now? He was acutely aware of his actions, and it created a ball of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

“Bucky, you're welcome to sit on my bed.” Y/N noticed his hesitation.

He shrugged. “I didn't want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“You aren't” Y/N said as she pulled a plate down from a cabinet in her Kitchenette. 

Bucky paused for a moment before taking a deep breath, "What's going through your head?" Y/N stopped what she was doing, food forgotten as he continued. "Be honest."

Y/N turned, leaning against the counter, to face him. She crossed her arms as she took a moment to bring her words forward, "Did you mean what you said?" her question was soft and quiet. "Your queen." She blinked her gaze up to his.

Bucky let out a huff of a laugh, the corner of his mouth pulling up, “I remember the day you arrived at the compound.” He continued. “That morning Steve and I were set to leave to go on a recon mission. We were going back to the Siberian Hydra base; I hadn't been back since the airport incident. I was an absolute mess leading up to it.” Bucky looked down at his hands as he absentmindedly followed the lines and seams of his metal finger with this flesh. “I probably shouldn't have gone.” He paused again. “I had come so far, the words out of my head, a family around me and I had finally thought I found peace. Yet the moment I stepped back into that room, I looked upon that pit with that monstrosity of a machine still sitting there. I lost it. It instantly triggered a spiral of anger and I felt pushed right back down to my lowest existence.” Bucky kept his eyes trained on the floor. “Steve watched as I destroyed the machine, before helping me calm down. We got the answers we needed, well Steve got the answers we needed. When we got back, I was so far stuck in my head, but then I heard this laughter, it was light and contagious.” Bucky looked up at Y/N who was giving him her full attention. “Your laughter.”

“I followed that sound, until I saw you. Sitting at the counter, a smile on your face and I swear I had never seen anything more beautiful in my life. For the first time since I could remember I could feel this spark of a flame ignite inside of me.” Bucky continued. “This spark that created light and hope and feeling. It only grew. Day after day. It grew with your kindness and confidence. Your strength and your intelligence. That day you took Steve down, he played it off, but I knew that you had genuinely taken him by surprise, I could see it in his eyes. So, I let myself fall in love, I let that light grow into a raging blaze. Until I found myself trying to muster up the courage to tell you while simultaneously trying not to take you where you stood. Ask me again, ask me if I meant what I said.”

Tears were building up in Y/N’s eyes, “Did you mean it?”

"Every word." There was no hesitation in his response as he didn't look away. "I would worship every inch of your mind and body, if you'd let me."

The world began to fade away as Y/N's heart began to beat faster. Bucky's words swirled in her head as she tried to comprehend their meaning as if she couldn't believe them. Bucky sat patiently watching as Y/N slowly walked up to him. Her gaze uncertain, he could feel the tension in the air, as the line they both were hesitant to cross was quickly approaching.

Y/N tentatively stepped between his legs. She could feel the tug of war between her anxiety and adrenaline as she reached to touch his face. She moved her thumb across his jaw, Bucky could see her mind taking off.

He brought his hands up to rest on her hips, "Look at me." Y/N stood quiet for a moment as she took in his unwavering gaze. "What do you need?”

Y/N took a deep breath, "To be your queen.”

He gently pulled her closer. His lips pressed against hers, a tingling sensation ran through her body. Y/N felt Bucky’s hands gently slide down to the crook of her knees. He pulled her up onto his lap, sliding his hands over her thighs following the curve of her ass, before pulling her flush as he deepened the kiss. His lips moved against hers with a gentle urgency as they began to get lost in each other. In that moment, nothing else mattered - no worries or fears, no past or future. There was only the heat of the moment, the electricity between them.

Y/N let her fingers sink back into his hair, tugging slightly, as a low moan tumbled from Bucky’s mouth. “I need more.” Y/N said as Bucky kissed down to the nape of her neck.

He slid his hands up under the hem on her shirt, letting them slowly trail up her sides. Her chest heaved as his thumbs ghosted the underside of her breasts. 

She pulled herself off him, sliding herself back to stand between his legs again, slowly she pulled her shirt up and over her head. He reached up and pulled his own shirt over his head, discarding it. He leaned back, picking up his hips as he pulled his pants down, kicking them off. His length sprung up to full attention and Y/N’s eyes dilated. She stood back admiring Bucky, taking in his sheer size, she bit her lip as her core began to pulse. 

“Come here,” Bucky’s words pulled her in like a lure.

As she climbed back on his lap her hands came to the side of his face and pulled him into her lips. A breathy sigh of a moan escaped Y/N. She lifted herself up on her knees, pushing him slightly back to get to the right angle. She could feel his tip resting at her entrance.

Bucky nudged her nose with his, getting her to look at him. She held eye contact as she slowly slid down, feeling herself stretch around him until she bottomed out. A broken gasp fell from Y/N as the feeling of fullness made her body shutter, Bucky’s stomach twitched in response. She slowly began to roll her hips. His hands squeezed her thighs as he let out a swallowed moan. Her pace quickened until her hips began to fall out of rhythm as she desperately chased her release. 

"That's it sweetheart," His words of encouragement doused in an aroused tone. He felt her sides flutter. He could feel her pressing down on him. He kissed the edge of her jaw as his other hand cupped the back of her head before slowly sliding his lips down her neck. Grazing over her nipples. Another flutter. Her hand slid up into his hair and gently pulled him closer, pressing her nipple to his lips.  The way she took what she wanted made him feral. "Fuck" Bucky whispered. The sound was low and guttural, skittering over her skin like wildfire. 

With every heavy breath a moan escaped. With the last roll of her hips her orgasm exploded through her. Y/N's let out a choked moan as her knees clenched together on either side of Bucky. She felt his metal fingers splayed across her back and his flesh held onto her waist. 

Still fully seated, She let her head fall onto his shoulder as she attempted to catch her breath. Bucky pressed his lips to the other side of her neck before tipping her head back up to see her face. She felt like she was floating in euphoria.

"Feeling good?" Bucky's hand cradled her head. 

A smile spread on her face as she nodded into his hand. "I need more."

Bucky pulled her face to his, guiding her to his lips. Kissing her slowly as he reached his hands behind her, sliding them down her back. He began kissing down her neck and chest as she leaned back slightly. He sucked a nipple into his mouth, feeling Y/N pulse around his sheathed member. He let it fall from his mouth watching the soft skin bounce slightly before latching on again. Y/N squirmed, grinding down, desperate for any movement. 

Bucky gripped her hips and pressed her down further as he worshipped her chest. "James," His name came out as a broken whine. 

"Say that again." Bucky instructed, "Say my name."

"Ja-ahhhh-mes" He sucked her nipple again as she spoke. 

He smirked slightly as he slid his hands under her ass and stood up, Y/N held on as Bucky turned them around and dropped her on the bed. Y/N rubbed her thighs together from the loss of friction. Bucky watched for a moment before Y/N let her legs fall open. Splayed fully open for him, Bucky instantly crawled over, his breath against her sex making her shutter. His lips trailed kisses up her stomach. 

“How many nights have you imagined me like this?” A low chuckle came from Bucky, “Not just nights, and not just this.” He sucked her nipple between his teeth, making her gasp, before he soothed the shock away with his tongue. Y/N’s fingers ghosted over his hairline as she slid them back into his hair, he looked up at her and his eyes darkened as he sunk down and ran his tongue flat against her core. 

Her fingers curled, pulling his hair as her back arched off the bed. Electricity buzzed and exploded up over her body. His hands gripped her hips, keeping her from going too far.

Y/N fell further into bliss as Bucky explored her folds with his tongue. Soft moans spilled between her breaths. She gasped as he slowly inserted a finger, moving it in and out, then two, he felt her walls constrict as he slowly moved and curled his fingers. Y/N began to rock her hips against his face. His lips captured her clit sucking softly before pulling back, letting it fall from his lips. Y/N’s mouth fell open as the filthiest moan fell from her lips. 

He began rubbing his lips and tongue against her in a smooth pattern that felt like a love letter. Her hands gripped his, slipping back to his wrists as she writhed with him, completely letting him guide her over the edge. 

A choked moan came as Y/N’s legs squeezed Bucky’s head. She involuntarily curled up. Bucky wiped his mouth as he sat back on his knees, bringing his fingers up, sucking them clean.

He reached down and grasped her thighs, pulling them up and over his. He leaned back down, letting his hands slide up her torso, up and under her breasts, as his lips found hers once more. 

Y/N could feel his tip at her entrance, and it sent a shiver down her spine. 

She clung to his shoulders, nails dragging across his skin as he slowly pushed himself to his base. She felt the stretch as Bucky began to roll his hips, slowly dragging himself in and out. He began to pick up his pace, to read her body and follow her needs. Y/N hand snaked back around Bucky’s neck, as he sat back up on his knees, she clung to him as he continued his relentless pace. Y/N gripped onto the back of his neck with one hand as she found his knee with her other hand, propping herself up. There was no need however, as Bucky held her up, with his metal hand firmly on her ass and his flesh arm wrapped around the small of her back. He watched as her eyes rolled back into her head, his lips catch and dragged up her neck before sucking on her pulse.

Y/N’s body trembled as she fought to hold back, selfishly wanting more yet not knowing if she could take it. 

She felt her core wound as tight as it would go, unable to hold on to it any longer, she let go. Her body shuttered and Bucky could feel her orgasm pulse around him, squeeze him. He continued, fucking her through, dragging her out as far as he could. He was close and couldn't take it anymore. He let Y/N fall back onto the bed, as he pulled out and finished on her stomach. 

Their breathing was heavy as Bucky leaned over once more, bringing his hand up to Y/N face, her eyes glossed over in euphoria. “Are you okay?’

“Yeah,” She shook her head as she let out a sigh, “More than,”

A smile spread across Bucky’s face as he kissed her, “I am going to go get the shower ready for you, is that okay?”

Y/N Shook her head again before gently pressing her lips to his. “I need to lay here for a moment.”

“You just lay here and look pretty,” Bucky pulled himself off the bed.

Bucky walked into the bathroom, turning the water on to let it warm up. He quickly washed himself and cleaned up before setting up the bathroom for Y/N. He pulled a fresh towel out, placing it in the warmer next to the shower. A purchase that at first, he thought was ridiculous but has since rescinded that opinion. 

He heard Y/N soft pitter pats as she walked in, the steam beginning to form and build. “All set, towel is in the warmer.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said as she made her way to the shower.

“Don't be too long, your food will get cold.” Bucky kissed her forehead before he left Y/N to clean up as he went back out and continued to reheat the food, he had gotten for her. While the microwave hummed, he stripped the bed and stretched new sheets from corner to corner. Laid out the blankets and pulled them back slightly ready for Y/N to crawl in. 

He pulled down another plate for himself before playing up the food. Just as he finished cleaning up Y/N walked out. “Smells good.” She came up to Bucky’s side, wrapping a hand around his arm, leaning against his shoulder. “I am so hungry,” a laugh escaped Y/N, her head moved slightly as Bucky moved his arm. “Go eat, I’ll be right there with some water.”

“Thank you,” Y/N grabbed the plate and took a deep smell through her nose and smiled. “You really did get my favorite.” She said as she settled in on the bed and took a bite.

Bucky sat a cup of water down on her side table before crawling in to join her, “I know. I know all your favorites.”

“Oh?” Y/N asked as she took another bite. 

“And I have the rest of the night to figure out the ones I don't know.” A blush spread across Y/N’s cheeks. 

“I am looking forward to it.” She smiled as she glanced over at Bucky. “I could get use to this queen shit.”

“Oh, you just wait Doll,” Bucky replied. “I am just getting started.”

-End-

[k-hotchoisan]

Yunho smut with his hands? 🥴

Oh god I love his hands I want them around my neck so bad. My choking kink is off the fucking charts whenever Yunho’s hands are present. Here’s something for you, pretty. Enjoy Yunho and his pretty little hands.

Synopsis: what are the odds of getting a tattoo and getting fucked by your tattoo artist because you cannot stop staring at his fuckin hands

Warnings/genres: tattoo au!, mention of needles, slight size kink, choke kink, unprotected sex, hands kink, cream pies, fingering

A/n: I am so sorry for the amount of typos. I fucking swear this isn’t what usually happens omg

You stood before the apartment door, double checking that you got the right address—yeah you definitely did. He did mention that it was a home-based studio. Your first tattoo appointment and you were so nervous because you don’t know what to expect. Hongjoong had assured you to just go with an open mind. You didn’t know much about your tattoo artist, only knowing that his name was Yunho, nonetheless, you did really like his art style, and you soon settled on him with Hongjoong’s advice.

Back to present, you pushed the doorbell, and it echoes through the apartment. There is a silence before the doorknob clicks. The door pulls back, and before you, stood a really tall male. His sharp eyes make him look very intimidating and for a moment your heart races, and you wonder if you stopped into the wrong house.

“You are?” He asks, and rumbles you even more because his voice is so fucking deep for no reason.

You manage to find the voice stuck in your throat, as you reply, “y/n, here for a 7pm tattoo appointment with Yunho?”

His face softens immediately as his eyes brighten up. “Ah right! Yunho’s client! Come in. I’ll get Yunho in a bit”. He ushers you in as you remove your shoes.

You step inside, soaking in the interior of the apartment. It was definitely a shared space—the common areas were spacious, maybe just spacious enough to serve for two people. It was a pretty clean looking, monochromatic layout.

“Oh right, my name’s Mingi. Song Mingi, but you can call me Mingi”, he introduces himself brightly, his smile contagious. “I’m his room mate.” You smile back.

“Please excuse the mess by the way”, he laughs as he leads you through the corridor, and the both of you are standing in front of a wooden door. Mingi knocks the door before saying “Hyung, I’m coming in” with a raised voice. He pushes the door handle down and the door opens. The subtle hint of lavender hits you from the humidifier and it instantly relaxes you.

On the cushioned rolling stool sat your tattoo artist, his frame is as tall as Mingi’s, messy brunette locks tussled on his head. He’s in simple black shirt but he still looks so fucking good. He’s absorbed on his iPad, still sketching out the little details of what seems to be your tattoo.

You feel your heart beat a little too quickly the moment your eyes land on him because you did not expect him to be that attractive.

And you are gonna be stuck with him for at least a couple of hours together.

Mingi raps the door again, and that’s when Yunho looks up, and you take a good look at his face. He doesn’t look like whatever you expected him to look like, well, not that you had any pictures to reference him from to begin with. But definitely, he is pretty fucking good looking. You stay rooted at the entrance of the door, mooning over your tattoo artist in a tight black shirt while he eyes you up and down with a soft smile.

“Oh right! My apologies”, Yunho finally speaks and he sounds like honey, and it suddenly makes you slightly thirsty. “Hey. I’m Yunho. We finally meet”, he greets with a hand up.

His fucking hands. Oh my fucking gods. He has a silver ring cuffing his index finger. Then he beckons you to go over to him. Mingi tilts his head to Yunho’s direction before saying that he needs to leave, giving you a small nod before shutting the door.

You have no choice but to inch closer to Yunho, who’s smiling at you like a fucking golden retriever, and you wonder to yourself ‘this dude is a fucking tattoo artist?’ Yunho beckons you to take seat on an empty stool across him as he mentions to give him a couple more minutes to finish up the design draft. You nod, even if he doesn’t see it since his attention is back on his iPad. You quietly stare at the way he makes his strokes with his Apple Pencil.

And you get a closer look at this long, slender fingers. You’ve never met anyone with such pretty hands before, yet the way he holds the pencil is so gentle, and almost attractive for some reason. It’s especially the way his fingers are veiny and long—his joints are angled in such a way it frames his fingers so fucking prettily. Yunho looks up and catches your gaze, and you flinch slightly, thinking you are caught in the act.

“Eager to see your design?” He asks playfully, a small smile tugging the corner of his lips. Oh thank fucking god.

“Yeah of course. I wonder what you came up with”, you quickly say, pretending to peek over at the iPad.

He brings up the iPad higher to his eye level and it’s the way his fingers curls around the tablet. He flips it over to you and you soak in the design he drew out for you. It’s what you wanted. You also don’t miss out how clean and neatly trimmed his fingernails are.

“Is it to your taste? Got any last minute changes you want before I print it out?” He asks, as he stands up and walks over to the printer. You shake your head slowly, trying not to swoon at how deliciously tall he is.

He beams. “Great! Then I’ll print a couple of sizes out. Take your pick okay? I’ll go grab some water for you.” You nod as he disappears out of the room through the door. The printer starts up and it begins to print out the stencil.

You look around the room. Despite it looking small, it was pretty cozy looking. The room has comfortable lighting, with lamps, which you assume are for the tattoo work. There’s a small space just behind the empty stool you’re seated on, with smaller studio lights pointing towards the wall, which you deduce is probably where he takes photos of his finished products. His tattoo machine sat near to the tattoo bed, which was cling wrapped for sanitary purposes, including the pillows. Finally, a small desktop computer set up was against the wall, perpendicular to the small studio lights, with a printer at the side. The door knocks, a short pause before it pushes open, and it’s Yunho with a drink in hand.

He walks over to you and hands it to you, his fingers brushing against yours and it takes you so much nerves to have any wild thoughts. You take a sip to distract yourself as you hear scissors cutting through the tracing paper. As you open your eyes, Yunho is so fucking near your face that it makes your heart jump.

“Oh gosh! Did I scare you?” Yunho laughs as he takes the cup from your hand. “My apologies.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine. You just move so quietly”, you joke. Yunho smiles in reply as he places the cup on his desk.

“I need you to lift your shirt up for me”, Yunho instructs, staring at your abdomen.

Fuck, for a moment your mind plunges into some unknown territory. You forgot that your tattoo placement was above your hip. You roll the fabric up high enough, and you fucking jump when you feel Yunho’s fingertips brush against your skin, on your waist. “It’s here right? The placement that you wanted?” He confirms, his touch not leaving your skin. “Yeah”, you manage out.

He cuts a piece of tape to adhere the stencil onto your skin before bringing you over to the full length mirror right by the bed to let you confirm your placement. After a few adjustments (and hell of of him touching your waist with his bare hands which was definitely giving you insane haywire thoughts), you came to a placement which you are satisfied with. He sticks the stencil to your skin, much like a temporary tattoo, pulling out the tracing paper and letting it dry, before having you lie down in the bed as he prepared his inks.

“First tattoo?” He asks as he checks his gun.

“Yeah”, you reply, playing with your fingers from the nervousness.

Yunho chuckles. “That placement might hurt a little though. You’re a brave one.”

You only release a nervous laugh—wondering if it is for the tattoo or because of Yunho. He turns to you, tugging against his ring to remove it before snapping black latex gloves on before pushing your shirt higher. You bite you lip.

How the fuck does his hands look even better gloved? The black latex only enhances the length and shape of his hands, which curls around his tattoo gun.

“I’m gonna start now. Let me know if you need a break, yeah?” Yunho assures. You know it’s probably a customer service thing but god, why did he have to be so attentive?

He switches on the gun and it buzzes. He begins tattooing and sure enough, the placement you picked definitely hurt quite like a bitch, but you force yourself to pull through it.

“Is this okay? Does it hurt?” He asks before continuing.

“It does, but I think I’ll be fine”, you reply, thinking of something else to distract yourself from the pain. Throughout the session, Yunho makes conversations with you, making you laugh when you probably shouldn’t because he was stabbing needles at your waist but still. He was amazing at breaking the ice, especially in such a seemingly intimate space. You feel yourself unwind a little, and although it still hurt, you don’t feel so tense anymore. Nonetheless, you could not shake the thought about his hands running down your body every time you glance at Yunho doing your tattoo.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I even wanted to get a tattoo when I have a shit pain threshold”, you say in between soft giggles to cover up the pain and soreness that was starting to sink in.

“But you’re doing so well for me”, Yunho replies absentmindedly with a smile. Your head spins the moment he says that, butterflies were invading your stomach. What the fuck was that even? Now your stomach in twisting into knots when he’s praising you like that.

“We’re almost done. Hold on a little longer for me yeah?” He assures again, as you bear through the pain. It’s over quickly as he smoothes over your tattoo with a final swipe of the paper towel. He moves back a little to admire his work. He looks satisfied. He pulls his gloves off and sits you up gently, your stomach still fluttering as his fingers brush against your skin. He brings you to the full length mirror, and there you admire how gorgeous the tattoo looks.

“It looks amazing” you gasp, turning your side to have a better view of it. Yunho looks proud. He has his phone in his hand now and requests a few photos, which you obliged to of course. He adjusts your shirt before snapping a few pics.

“I really like how this turned out,” you gush. “Thank you Yunho.”

Yunho shakes his head. “Thank you for entrusting me to it, especially as your first tattoo.”

You laugh in response, and you don’t realise that he’s kneeled down at your waist, preparing to stick on the second skin. He sticks it on and instructs you on proper tattoo care before making another appointment for a touch up. You thank him and left the apartment, heart still beating in your ears.

You’ve developed a way too big of a crush on your tattoo artist now.

The touch up appointment came way too quickly than you thought. To be fair, you were still not over it, and as much as the tattoo scabbing and itch , it couldn’t compare to way Yunho’s hands kept brushing against your waist, as he checks on your tattoo. But in the past month, all you think about was Yunho and his fucking hands. Even now, when he’s only taking a look at your healed tattoo, your mind in swimming in the most dirtiest places you wanted him to touch.

You shut your eyes and bite your lip so no weird sound comes out from your mouth. You feel Yunho’s breath right at your waist as it tickles your skin, a soft sigh escapes your lips as your tattoo artist continues to rub against the tattoo.

And it doesn’t go unnoticed by Yunho.

He could very easily just tug your pants down and you would let him because fuck, he’s all you can think about now. Yunho stands up, and definitely notices how flushed your skin is looking, and he decides to test waters. He traps you at the tattoo bed, and you hear your heart in your ears as he inches closer. Now he’s pretty much towering over you as his fingers are tracing against your waist, sending goosebumps down your skin. “Your tattoo healed so nicely”, he says, hooking his index finger and thumb to your chin so you’d meet his gaze. Your gaze travels down to his pretty lips and he takes it as a sign to cup your neck and pull you in for a starved kiss, sending your mind into a fucking frenzy, and fireworks to go off in your eyelids. He tastes even better than you thought. Your eyes flutter open as he pulls back, catching your breath.

“Won’t Mingi hear?” You ask. He shakes his head. “Not anytime soon, doll.” His little pet name making you flush even harder, and it all goes down to your pussy, which is getting wet enough already, no thanks to your little fantasies and the fucking kiss.

“Now, stop thinking about him when I’m here.”

His hands touch your waist again, as he lifts you onto the tattoo bed, the plastic crinkling beneath you. You watch him breathlessly as he tugs against your bottoms, and your clothing articles drop to your ankles. Yunho doesn’t let them touch the ground, instead, he folds it hastily onto the other side of the bed, before turning his attention back to you, or your wet and sopping pussy.

Yunho licks his lips, before stroking your thighs to coax you to spread your legs open, and you do, your eyes following the way his fingers are stroking your thigh, alongside the ticklish feeling it was sending straight to your cunt.

“Such a pretty pussy, doll”, he compliments, his fingers trailing down your slicked cunt, before stopping right at your hole. He hears your little whimpers and cries, and it goes right to his hardened cock that’s pushing against his pants. But he knows being patient reaps the best rewards. He can be patient for you. Yunho’s fingers slowly plunge into your cunt, and your back arches in pleasure, because oh my fucking god, his fingers are long enough to hit a spongy area and it was sending fucking stars beneath your eyelids. Shivers tickle your spine as Yunho’s lips land soft kisses against your skin on your neck. His finger fucking was sending you into the heavens.

A kiss on your cheeks makes your eyes flutter open, and you meet Yunho’s gaze.

“I’ve noticed”, he sighs, slowing down his finger fucking in you. “That you seem really entranced by my hands since our first session.” Then he plunges his fingers in again, another cry leaving your lips as your eyes roll back.

Fuck. He found out.

“You have such pretty hands”, you admit, hiding your face with your arms, wondering what was more embarrassing—the fact that he found out about your fixation with his hands, or that he’s fucking your cunt with said fingers.

“So I should make really good use of it, right?” Yunho chuckles, adoring the way you’re squirming under his touch. He pulls your hands off your face and holds them down, and oh god, he was truly trying to drive you insane. He picks up the pace and every time his fingers press against your g-spot, your moans only grew louder and more desperate, and Yunho is progressively losing his rationale. He wants to fuck you so bad right now, and the thought of him railing you on his workspace only heightened his arousal, because he has never done that before.

Your orgasm only builds up even more quickly when he thumbs your clit after releasing your hands. Your hands are clawing his arms.

“Yunho, please. Oh god. That feels so fucking good. Gonna cum.”, you cry, lifting your legs higher, and that only encourages Yunho to pick up the pace, and the words that leave his lips-“cum on my fingers baby. You know you want to”- and a whimper escapes his lips the moment he feels your walls clench against his fingers, as moans pours out of you when your orgasm floods your senses. Yunho lets you ride your orgasm out, slowly pushing his fingers in and out again, enjoying your cunt squeezing his fingers. He pulls out slowly and you barely catch your breath, as your gaze meet his. His fingers are full of your slick and cream, and plasters it on his lips, giving them a lick before sucking this pretty fingers, covered in your arousal, fucking clean. That does nothing but throw your head into a frenzy, and your cunt clenches at nothing, as you struggle to keep your composure.

But now Yunho is the one starting to lose it, as he haphazardly wipes his fingers on his slacks before hastily pulling his pants down, his cock springing out, glimmering with precum already, very evident thanks to the studio lights. God fuck, as if his hands weren’t pretty enough, his dick is too. Yunho bites his lip, staring at how fucked out you looked, especially since he hasn’t even fucked you good yet. He pushes your knees to bend even more, before lining his cockhead to your hole before sinking his cock right into you. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open at this point. Your cunt feels slightly sore, and your walls are hugging his cock so well that Yunho is fighting not to just fuck you senseless. Yunho groans at the sensation, but he leans in for another hungry kiss with you, before his hand snakes around your neck.

He pulls back. “I’m sorry. I really need to fuck you so bad right now. Fuck.” You can’t help but find that so endearing that he’s holding back. Your fingers tug your folds open more, letting him sink his cock further deeper into your heat, which makes him squeeze your throat. It feels so fucking amazing to have Yunho choke you out like this, and you make it even more evident by clenching around his cock.

He doesn’t hesitate this time, and starts fucking you so deep and good, that you fucking swear you see a bulge below your belly button every time his cock hits your cervix. The sensation of Yunho’s cock stuffing you full every time he thrusts into you paired with his hands around your neck—softly squeezing and letting go—is only pushing your second orgasm to hit you.

“I would have never guessed that you’d get off my hands this much”, Yunho hums, looking at the way your eyes are rolled back as his balls slap your ass every time he fucks into you, your hands grabbing onto his arm, clawing again from the bliss he’s fucking you into. “Do you like them that much?”

You fight every nerve to focus on answering him, eyebrows scrunched. “Y-yeah. Fuck, I fantasise you choking me out like this since that day. I dream about letting you do whatever you want to me with your han-“ getting cut off from a sob as his cock fills you up again—or did he just grow even bigger in you? Ah, fuck, it doesn’t matter.

“Naughty girl”, Yunho mutters with a smirk, his free hand slapping against your ass, the sound rippling through the room, making you arch your back even more.

“Yunho, p-please’, you stutter, the knot in your stomach so taut. “I think I’m gonna cum again”. Now you’re sobbing. This only encourages Yunho to tighten his grip around your neck as his strokes become harder, and you snap—broken sobs leaving your throat as your cunt fucking squeezes Yunho’s cock, the sensation of his hands around your neck only amplifies your orgasm as stars burst in your eyelids, and you cream so fucking much, that it gets onto the cling wrapped bed below you. Yunho immediately loses it, his thrusts becoming straight up ruts. He releases his grip from your neck, and the oxygen returns immediately, leaving your heaving. Yunho is leaning into your ear, as his both hands are now on your waist as he fucks desperately into your overstimulated cunt.

“You’re so fucking adorable, y/n. I’m cumming too”, he grunts, as he ruts a final time before a soft moan hits your ears, then a flood of his warm cum right into your spent pussy, and oh god, did that feel amazing. Yunho stays by your side for a moment, before straightening his back, and pulling out, not missing a beat at the way his cum just trickles down your inner thigh, out of your hole.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. This is your work space and all”, you panic, taking a handful of tissues that Yunho had offered to clean yourself up. Evidently, that doesn’t get to him because Yunho immediately rushes over the moment he notices the red marks around your neck.

“Shit, did I choke you too hard?” He asks rather frantically, lifting your chin up, rubbing against your neck gently. You shake your head, suddenly wanting to just kiss him again, but you hold yourself back. “Also, don’t worry about this. My next appointment isn’t until 4pm. I have time to clean up. You alright though?”

Fuck, why did he have to be hot and gentle? It was genuinely driving you nuts. “Is it okay if I use the toilet?” You ask, fitting your clothes on. Yunho immediately nods, rushing to the door to leave it open for you, as you gingerly head to the washroom.

You sigh as you leave the washroom, wondering if it was about to simply be a one time thing, because you were falling for your tattoo artist, hard and fast. Your gaze meets Yunho’s the moment you shut the door behind you, and Yunho has cleaning supplies in his hands. Suddenly your face flushes again, thinking at the mess the both you made.

Yunho’s smile doesn’t falter though, and you see a tint of red colouring the tips of his ears, which you could have definitely missed if you hadn’t noticed closely. There’s a strange air of silence between the both of you, that is, until Yunho speaks.

“My 4pm client is my last one for the day. I’ll text you when I’m done, if you’re down for dinner?” He asks, rubbing the nape of his neck shyly. Oh my fucking god. You laugh softly, because, holy shit, you never expected this outcome, and then you nod. “I’ll be waiting, Yunho”, you reply.

Yunho steps forward to you and strokes your head. “I’ll see you to the door then. And then I’ll see you tonight.”

[jlheon]

౨ৎ — hair dye (sjy)

pairing. bf! sim jaeyun x fem! reader synopsis. you and jake decide to get matching hair colors genre. est. relationship fluff wc. 1241 notes. if jake goes red maybe i will too! library.

you were a force to reckon with. once you started dating jake, both of you paired together made for many impulsive late-night decisions.

just as tonight did.

it was nearly 2 am when you had sat up from bed with a ‘brilliant’ idea.

you and jake were not sleeping yet, the sunset lamp you purchased was still on to illuminate the room.

you had brought it over since you spent more time at jake's house than at your apartment.

you two mindlessly scrolled on your phones, enjoying the comfortable silence.

“baby why are you up?” jake mumbled, his arm locking around your waist to bring you back to his chest.

“you would do anything for me right?” you asked, looking down at him and brushing some hair strands off his forehead.

“of course,” he sat up next to you, taking your smaller hand in his. “where is this coming from?” his eyes shone with slight worry.

“would you dye your hair to match with me?”

and that is all it took for you and jake to get in the car and drive to the nearest hair supply store. for some reason, your hair supply store was thankfully open when you arrived.

letting out an exhale in relief as you and jake came up upon the ‘OPEN’ light sign, he opened the door and ushered you in first. mostly because neither of you even considered checking if the place was open.

“hi ____! nice to see you and..?” liz, the cashier, greeted.

she had known you as a frequent customer due to your tendency to get bored of your hair quickly.

“hi liz! this my boyfriend jake! we’re looking for some red hair dye enough for the both of us.” you explained, tugging him along when liz led you down an aisle.

“this should be enough!” she handed you a large bottle of developer, which jake quickly took off your hands.

the three of you walked towards the checkout to get ringed up. before liz even finished scanning all your items jake had already taken his silly minion card out to pay.

“ikeu it was my idea, you should have let me pay.” you huffed, settling into the passenger’s seat while he made sure you were buckled properly.

you had no idea when he started checking your seatbelt but he had been insistent ever since he started.

you told him multiple times you could buckle yourself but he said it made him feel more at ease. so who were you to oppose?

“you know that as long as i have money i’ll never let you pay baby,” he said, turning on the car engine, and driving back towards his apartment.

when you reached his building the sky decided to downpour.

making jake run to the passenger’s side to get you so he could wrap the both of you in his jacket and make a run for it.

once you had made it inside you both were completely drenched. sharing many giggles in the elevator, due to you calling him a puppy after a bath. he was just so cute.

unlocking his door he got himself changed into a new set of clothes and got you one of his old t-shirts to change into. picking shirts he wouldn’t mind getting dirty. grabbing some towels from the bathroom so you could start your hair dye escapade.

you sat on the bathroom counter, jake standing between your legs, putting the red dye all over his hair.

you made sure to wear gloves as you had an afternoon lecture the next day and didn’t want it to look like you killed elmo.

jake basked in the fact you were continuously carding your fingers through his hair.

sliding off the countertop when you finished his hair, you kept your gloves on. letting him help you do the back of your head while you handled the front.

he purposely got some on your neck, the coolness of the dye making you shake. in spite, you reached up to put some on his ears.

the acoustics of the bathroom amplifying your shared giggles, which you tried to lessen due to sunghoon being asleep in the room next door.

the soft sounds of your playlist filled the room while you both sat on the bathroom floor with a 30-minute timer for the dye to set in.

the alarm on your phone started to vibrate, signaling it was time to wash your hair.

since you had did your boyfriend's hair first he had to wash his out first. you put on another pair of gloves and had jake lean over the bathtub so you could rinse out the product.

the water from the faucet turned a bright red once hitting jake's hair. you used shampoo and conditioner to make sure jake wouldn’t sleep without the soft hair you loved to play with.

after you checked his hair was fully washed, you had him dry it with a towel as a hairdryer would most definitely disturb sunghoon’s slumber.

you had laughed once you switched places, jake now washing your hair, since he forgot to wear gloves his hands quickly turned a bright shade of red.

he didn’t even bother correcting his mistake, not minding the staining that would last for a couple of days at least.

as both of you dried your hair in front of the mirror you admired your matching hair.

smiling at how quickly he agreed to do his hair just for you.

he saw you grinning at him in the mirror and leaned down to kiss all over your face, rambling on about how the red suits you perfectly.

brushing your teeth and cleaning up the mess of hair products around his bathroom, you both finally headed to bed.

jake slipping into the spot next to you, engulfing you into a hug and intertwining his legs with yours.

by now it was nearly 6 am the sun was starting to peek out.

despite the sunlight creeping into the room through the cracks in the curtains, you both were knocked out like lights.

at around 9 am sunghoon waltzed into jake’s bedroom ready to ask him if he and you wanted anything for breakfast.

only to be met with a lump of blankets and red-stained hands peeking out from under the covers.

“OH MY GOD JAKE WHY ARE YOU COVERED IN BLOOD!” sunghoon shrieked, ripping the blankets off of you both.

triggering you both to tiredly groan. trying to return to sleep, you buried your head in the crook of jake’s neck, letting him deal with sunghoon alone.

“take a look at our hair hoon,” he rasped out.

“oh i see…” sunghoon lied. “it’s..?” waiting for someone to finish his sentence.

“it’s red hoon.” you deadpanned, shooing him to get out.

“OH! looks awesome guys! when did you do it?”

“at 2 am, now get out.”

“you are so cranky jake,” sunghoon pouted. “i guess i’ll only get ____ breakfast on my way back from class.”

“no please hoon i am so hungry..” jake pleaded.

“all you get is a slice of untoasted toast.”

“isn’t that just bread?”

“he will take whatever you give him just let me go back to sleep oh my god.” you groaned, flipping over.

“goodnight baby,” jake said, wrapping his arms around your waist to spoon you.

“it’s morning,” sunghoon commented.

“get out hoon.”

“finee,” he sulked, closing the door behind him.

[lustfulslxt]

hi yk that one vid of matt where its like boston matt and hes scratching his arm with his phone in his hand... can you make a fic where matt and y/n fuck in the bedroom and then they walk out into the kitchen and they start cooking dinner or something and have y/n make the video

Wind Down - Matt Sturniolo

warnings : nsfw

--

After a long week of seemingly never-ending work, I am finally able to make my way to my boyfriend's house. He's who I always run to when I have a rough day, so after the treacherous week I had, he's exactly what I need. Since we're both free this weekend, he invited me over for a little relaxing slumber party.

We both just finished school, and since summer started, we have been so busy with working and trying to stack money before moving forward with our careers. Saying that, the last couple of months have been exhausting, neither of us really having a well-deserved and much needed break. So, when he texted me and told me to come over, and that he's got snacks and movies for us, I was beyond ecstatic.

Within ten minutes of leaving my house, I'm pulling up to his. I park beside their minivan and grab my overnight bag, quickly making my way through the back, towards the backdoor. Before I can even open it, it's opened for me, revealing Matthew.

"Hi, princess." He smiles, grabbing my hand and pulling me into him for a kiss.

"Hey, baby." I smile, planting another sweet kiss on his lips.

"Ugh." He groans, pulling me into his arms, squeezing me. "I've missed you."

"I know." I whine, enjoying his warm embrace. "Everything's been so chaotic. I was thrilled when I got your text."

He grabs my bag and ushers me upstairs, following close behind me. "Of course. I knew we both have this weekend off and I just want to spend it with you."

Once we get to the kitchen, I interlock our hands and place my head on his shoulder. He's always been the best boyfriend, and I'm so thankful for him. He wraps his arm around my shoulder, with our hands still connected, and walks us to his bedroom. There, on the bed, are all of our favorite snacks and drinks.

I turn to him with a huge grin, "You're seriously the best. What would I do without you?"

"Simply cease to exist." He jokes, earning a playful shove from me.

We both giggle, me skipping to the bed while he sets my bag aside and gets his TV ready to play a movie. I gather all the snacks up and push them aside, making room for both of us to cuddle.

"Are you hungry?" He asks, joining me on the bed.

I shrug, "Eh, not really. But if you are, we can eat something real quick."

"No, I'm all good. I was just making sure." He replies, getting under the covers with me.

He lies on his back, me curled up at his side with one of my thighs wrapped around him. I place my head on his chest, and watch him flicker through Netflix, looking for a movie to watch. His scent fills my nostrils, making me feel all warm and giddy inside. He always smells so good. I slip my left hand under his shirt, resting it on his abdomen, rubbing soft circles just how he likes.

"God, I've missed you." He mutters, kissing the top of my head and pulling me closer to him.

He sets the remote down on his nightstand table and turns to face me. Closing his eyes, he pulls me flush against him and buries his head in the crook of my neck.

"No movie?" I question, closing my eyes and indulging in the warmth he's providing.

"Not unless you really want to watch something." He says, his eyes fluttering down at me. "I just wanna lay here with you."

I smile and place a kiss on his lips, burying my face in his chest. "That's completely fine by me."

He grins, snuggling impossibly closer to me, both of us finding solace in one another. His hand sneaks up my shirt and rubs my back up and down, the heat of his hand causing goosebumps to spread across my skin. I wrap my arms around his neck and hike my leg up higher, desperate to be as close as possible. Time like these, I just want to live in his skin.

"I love you, Matty." I whisper against his cheek, the side of my face now against his.

"I love you more, pretty girl." He responds, planting his lips on mine.

It was a soft, but meaningful, kiss. His lips always move so tenderly against mine, both of us savoring the feeling it never fails to bring. We pull away, cheeky smiles adorning both of our mouths, before going back in. Our lips blend perfectly, moving together in a delicate and loving manner. My hands tangle in his hair, massaging his scalp the way I know he loves.

He pulls away and looks me in the eyes, quickly putting our mouths back together more desperately than before. His hands continue to roam along my back, my shirt riding up the higher he goes. One of his hands reaches the back of my neck, deepening the kiss and slipping his tongue in my mouth. Our tongues glide over each other with ease before he's exploring my whole mouth with his. After a moment, he pulls away, tugging my bottom lip in the process. It didn't take long for the heat to grow in my core, suddenly needing him in another way rather than just cuddles.

"You're so perfect, baby." He groans against my lips, brushing the hair out of my face.

"Matt." I breathe in a slightly whiny voice.

His eyes stare into mine, and I know he can read it all over my face. I need him so bad. He gently flips me onto my back, hovering over me and putting our lips together again. His hands slip up my shirt once more, softly gripping my waist and caressing my curves. It only takes him a second to decide to remove my shirt altogether. I slightly lean forward, assisting him in removing the piece of clothing. The moment my shirt hits the floor, his is also on the way down.

I pull him back down to me, our lips meeting in a feverish and heated kiss. My hands run up his bare torso, feeling the definition of his body beneath my fingertips. He turns my head to the side a bit, his lips trailing down my cheek and to my neck. He flicks his tongue along the sensitive skin, latching his lips around it. Nibbling and sucking all over, leaving me needy and breathless. He continues working his mouth lower, now peppering open mouthed kissed along my shoulder and collarbone, leaving a trail of saliva in his wake.

His hands never leave my body once, him straddling one of my legs with his knee pressed directly into my core. The small gesture is enough to have me clenching around nothing, excited to be filled. I can feel his dick growing, the bulge pressing against my inner thigh. I loop my fingers in the waistband of his pants, attempting to tug them down. He reluctantly pulls away from me, leaning back to remove the rest of his clothing. I do the same, both of us tossing them aside with our shirts.

The sight of his erect dick, his tip red and secreting the slightest dribble of precum had my mouth watering. His hands engulf my breasts, kneading them as his mouth takes turn sucking each nipple. The way his hands and mouth work against my skin, and the feeling of his dick brushing against my clit, has me softly moaning beneath him.

"Please, Matt." I moan out, slightly lifting my hips to grind against him.

"I know, baby, I know." He assures, pulling back.

He wraps his hand around his dick, stroking up and down, closing his eyes at the sensation. He leans forward, sliding his member in between my slick folds, coating it with my arousal. He aligns himself with my entrance, slowly pushing in just enough for his tip to be buried in me, before he's pulling back out.

"Don't tease." I whine, my hands clenching the sheets beneath us.

He slightly chuckles, pushing back in, this time all the way. I gasp, feeling the hard muscle deep inside me as he bottoms out. He stills, letting both of us adjust, his teeth biting on his bottom lip from the pleasure. After just a moment, he begins pumping in and out of me. I squeeze my eyes shut, my back arching off the bed. His strokes are slow, but hard, my boobs shaking with every movement.

He reaches forward, gripping plush skin on my chest, pinching the sensitive buds. Soft moans emit from my mouth left and right, my face turning to the side from the overwhelming pleasure. He grasps my jaw, turning my face back to him. He gazes down at me, studying my features, his thrusts gaining power, but keeping the slow pace.

"Always look so fucking pretty under me like this." He groans out, his hair dangling in front of his face.

"Mm, you fuck me so good, baby." I moan out, my nails digging into his bare back.

He smashes his lips onto mine, his hand still gripping my jaw as he fucks into me. He kisses me so deeply that it leaves me breathless. I'm on cloud nine. I can feel every vein that runs along his cock as he slowly pumps his member in and out of me, hitting my g-spot over and over again. The lewd sounds of my arousal and our skin slapping rings through the air, making this moment all the more delicious.

"Your pussy feels so good wrapped around me. So tight and wet." He moans, his thrusts becoming slightly sloppier. "Whose is it?"

I can't comprehend anything, my mind hazy with pleasure. Pornographic moans fall from my mouth, repeatedly. I can feel my orgasm sneaking up on me, causing me to clench around his dick.

"I asked you a question." He growls, his hand on my jaw turning me to look at him. "Whose pussy is this?"

"F-fuck." I whine out, "Yours. It's yours, Matt. All yours."

"Oh fuck-" He moans into my neck, his breath heavy. "You're goddamn right it is. All mine."

His thrusts speed up, him chasing our highs. My thighs clench around his waist and I can feel him throbbing inside of me. His tongue dances along the sweaty skin of my neck, teasing the sensitive bit. His panting and moaning in my ear, along with his deep strokes, push me over the edge. My legs begin to tremble, my head thrown back, nails digging into his back muscles. With a loud moan, I'm releasing onto his cock.

"Such a good girl, baby." He moans, his thrusts now completely abandoning their previous rhythm.

With just a few more pumps, his hips are sputtering and he's emptying his seed into me with a loud groan. He continues slowly fucking into me, riding both of our highs out, before he comes to a halt. He gently pulls out of me, collapsing on the bed beside me. Both of us have erratic breaths, our cheeks flushed a rosy, pink color. Our skin is slick with sweat, his hair stuck to his forehead, mine stuck to my neck.

"That was, wow." He pants.

"Matt." I breathe, causing him to look over at me. "I'm hungry now."

He bursts into laughter, making me join him. He leans over and places a sweet kiss on my cheek before getting up, grabbing my hand and helping me to stand.

"Let's get dressed. We can make something to eat, then shower and actually watch a movie this time." He suggests.

I nod in agreement, quickly dressing myself as he does the same. Combing my hair out with my fingers, I follow him out into the kitchen. He rounds the counter and opens the fridge, browsing for something to eat.

"Hey, do you wanna make a pizza?" He asks, looking back at me with raised eyebrows.

"Ooo, yes!" I cheese, "I'm just gonna go pee real quick. Get everything out and we can start when I get back."

He nods and does so as I make my way to the bathroom. I quickly go pee and wash my hands, heading back out to start out food. On the counter lays a baking sheet and a Totino's frozen pizza. I laugh upon seeing it.

"I figured we could just make this, since it's late and I know we're both tired. But if you don't want to, we can make a homemade one. It's up to you, princess."

I smile at him, "This is perfectly fine."

He smiles back and goes to preheat the oven. I take the frozen pizza out of the wrapper and place it on the baking sheet, then sit down on one of the bar stools while waiting for the oven to reach temperature. Matt comes and sits beside me, pulling his phone out to keep him occupied.

He looks so cute and so handsome. His hair falling over his face so delicately, his lips so pretty and pink. I pull my phone out, opening snapchat and start recording him. He doesn't have to do much of anything at all to make my heart flutter. He reaches back and scratches his back, suddenly catching my eye and seeing me record him. He flashes me a smile as I grin at him.

"You're so handsome, baby." I tell him, ending the video.

"Thank you, princess." He says, pecking my lips.

Once the oven preheats, we place the pizza in and set a timer for when it should be done. After it finishes, we run to his room with a plate and get in bed, eager to eat and watch a movie. This is exactly what I needed after the week I had. Matthew never fails to make me forget about everything else, instead, showing me a good time and making loving memories that I'll cherish forever.

--

a/n : hii, this was kinda just short and sweet! i hope it was still enjoyable! and sooo sorry for the wait, still tryna get back into my grove :))) love uuu x

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 36 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley is finally happy, and he knows it's because of you. The way you want to try new things with him in bed makes him feel wild. And the way you love his son makes him feel calm. But when you read a piece of mail before he's ready for you to see it, your reaction has him feeling something new.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, smut, anal sex, butt plug, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Bradley anxiously awaited for his appointment with Tracy to begin. He wasn't sure if it was a good sign or a bad sign that she asked him to stop by on his way home from work, but he was here now. And he had his checkbook with him. 

"I owe you some money," he said when she finally called him back.

"Sure, but we have other things to talk about," she said, ushering him over to her conference table while she opened up a Red Bull.

His stomach lurched. "It is about Meredith? Is it bad?" He was finally starting to be able to enjoy every day he spent with you and Noah. He didn't have to worry about things constantly, because you were happy to help him with his son and his house. When he got home with Noah the other day, you were changing that lightbulb on the front porch that he'd been meaning to get to. And you kept trying to help him pay his mortgage. 

"Yes, it's about Meredith. Just have a seat."

Bradley sat and looked at her expectantly. "Has she been released or something? Do I need to call my girl?"

"No, no," she said, waving him off as she took a sip. "She's been sentenced."

Now Bradley's heart was really pounding. Tracy had told him that Meredith would most likely get five to fifteen years for the fraud charges. Five would be devastating, simply because Noah would still be a minor when she was released. Fifteen would be ideal. Noah would be over eighteen and a legal adult. A fight for custody or money would be a moot point. And well, if Bradley had another child with you, that would have nothing legally to do with his ex at all. 

"Please tell me this is good, Tracy. I just want to solidify my life right now exactly as it is. No more messing around with protective orders and broken windows. My kid is happy, and I am happy."

She smiled and said, "You're about to get even happier. Fifteen years." 

Bradley was out of his seat with his fist in the air immediately. "Hell yes! Any chance at parole?" he asked. 

"There's always a chance. We'll keep an eye on things." 

She and he talked for a bit after that, and he felt his body ease back comfortably in the seat. Bradley wrote out a check and left it with Tracy, and then she handed him a folder full of information on adopting a stepchild in California. And a second folder with a preliminary copy of his updated will.

When he got home with his checkbook in his hand, he found you and Noah in the kitchen, and both of you were wearing more peanut butter than the carrots on the cutting board in front of you were. But you were laughing, and so was he, and the house smelled like dinner was cooking.

"I'm home," Bradley said from the kitchen doorway, and you spun in surprise. 

"Hi, Daddy," you said as you rushed for him with your messy hands held out at your sides. "You're already done with Tracy?"

"Mmhmm," Bradley hummed, leaning down to kiss you as Noah brought him ants on a log. "Fifteen years," he murmured, and you leaned in for another kiss with a soft, pleased laugh. 

"Really?"

"We can talk more later," he said, keeping one arm around your waist as he lifted Noah up and opened his mouth for the messy carrot stick. He kissed Noah while he chewed and then said, "Thanks, Bub. Did you have a good day?"

"Yeah. We did a puppet show," he said before squirming out of Bradley's arm to go make a bigger mess. And that left Bradley holding you and his checkbook. 

"Casey asked me to say hi to you when I picked Noah up," you whispered with a little grin on your face as you reached for the checkbook. "I told her I would if my mouth wasn't otherwise engaged this evening."

Bradley snorted. "You didn't."

"I did," you confirmed, waving his checkbook in the air between two fingers before tossing it onto the counter. "Who are you writing checks to, old man? I already told you, everyone uses payment apps."

"Tracy," he said. "I'm pretty sure she's older than me."

"Nobody is older than you, Daddy," you whispered, and Bradley took your wrists and guided both of your hands to his mouth. He watched your lips part silently as he licked the healed scar on your palm before sucking your thumb into his mouth. You squeaked as he cleaned the peanut butter from each of your fingers individually as you stepped a little closer to him. 

"Who you calling old?" he asked before kissing your palm and squeezing your hip. He made a show of switching to the other hand as you rubbed your core against the front of his pants. Your eyes rolled back as you moaned for him. "Shh," he scolded. "Behave." 

But you were only wearing thin scrub pants, and Bradley didn't actually want you to behave. One glance at Noah proved that he was absorbed with emptying a large canister of raisins onto the counter, so Bradley finished with your hand and then palmed both of your butt cheeks at the same time. He squeezed, really enjoying the feel of you as he whispered, "Are you wearing it?"

"No," you gasped. "I just got home from work!"

Bradley shrugged. "You've been wearing it around the past few days. Here and there."

You glanced at Noah over your shoulder before you whispered, "It makes me horny. I can't wear it to work! I'll get fired!"

Bradley chuckled and then he tightened his grip on your ass and said, "Go put it in."

Your teeth immediately sank into your lip. "Now?"

"Yeah," he replied softly. "Like my good girl."

You scampered off to the bedroom, saying, "Take the casserole out of the oven," as you went.

---------------------------

You knew to take your time with your silicone plug now. Use lots of lube and relax. As soon as you finished inserting it, you were practically moaning for Bradley to put his cock in your pussy. You were kind of addicted to the way it felt when he and the toy were both inside you at the same time. With a few deep breaths, you eased your underwear and your scrub pants back up your legs and made your way back to the kitchen. 

Bradley and Noah were sitting at the table with the casserole dish, and when you met your boyfriend's eyes, he was grinning. "Well?" he asked, reaching for your hand. 

"You know it, Daddy," you replied, and even though you weren't trying to, your voice took on a needy edge. 

He grunted softly, his eyes half lidded now as he patted the chair next to him. Noah was already eating his dinner, and thankfully he didn't seem to notice the way Bradley was looking at you like you were for dessert. You eased yourself onto the seat and whimpered softly as Bradley leaned in and pressed the softest, sweetest kiss to your lips. 

"I love you, Baby," he murmured before brushing your cheek with his nose. "I can't wait to take you to the lake house next weekend. We'll pack your little toy."

He started kissing along your neck, and you didn't think you'd make it through dinner at this rate. Your nipples were hard, and he was barely even touching you. Desperate for a distraction, you tried to reach for the casserole without rolling your hips too much.

"Daddy?" Noah asked. "Can we get a dog?"

"A dog?" Bradley asked, his attention shifting slightly from you to his son. "I already got you a Mommy, isn't that enough?" You snorted with laughter, but Noah was undeterred. 

"I want a dog."

"Noah, if we get a dog, somehow it will end up being my responsibility. Maybe when you're older," Bradley said. But he was pouting, and he looked like he was going to cry. 

"Daddy," you whined softly with a little grin. "I always wanted a dog, too." 

Now Bradley was looking back and forth between you and Noah, before settling on you. "Are you really going to do this to me right now? You could probably get away with murder at the moment, Princess."

"Isn't that always the case?" you asked sweetly as you shifted a bit in your seat and served yourself some dinner. 

Bradley groaned and held his forehead in his hand. "Can we talk about this later?" he begged, glancing at you between his fingers. But you were busy smiling at his son. 

"We'll work on it, okay sweet Noah?" you whispered. 

"Okay," Noah agreed softly before he started eating again.

But teasing Bradley about the dog definitely backfired on you later on the couch. Noah wanted to watch a Disney movie, so Bradley sat in the middle of the couch with your head resting on one thigh and Noah's on the other. The Princess and the Frog was playing, because Bradley insisted you deserved a princess movie. And everything was perfect. His hand was heavy on your side, stroking you through your clothing in the most delicious way.

When the movie was nearly finished, Bradley murmured, "Noah's asleep," as his hand skimmed along your hip. Then inch by inch, his fingers worked their way along your butt until he was cupping you with one big hand. Then you felt him prod you through your clothing, running one long finger across the base of your toy. 

"Fuck," he grunted as he very gently pressed it further into you. Full. You were so full. After days of wearing it for an hour here and there, you thought maybe you were ready for more. 

You looked up at Bradley over your shoulder and wiggled against his hand. The way he slowly shook his head and licked his lips made you feel like you were in control of this. But you supposed you always were. Then he eased his hand up to your lower back and teased at the waistband of your pants and underwear before dipping it inside. 

Rough skin on yours had your eyes fluttering closed. "Look at me, Baby," he whispered, and you clenched for him. "Look at me while I touch you."

You did as you were told, but he subtly let you know you were still in charge. His brown eyes were sincere and open as he cupped your rear end, moving the plug incrementally. Pushing, pulling, tugging and teasing. When you whimpered, he pushed his fingers forward to your pussy. 

"Daddy," you gasped as he pushed his rough fingers through your folds.

He spanked your pussy lightly until you were afraid you'd start getting loud. "Go get yourself in bed," he instructed. Then he withdrew his fingers and licked them clean. When you rolled onto your belly, your cheek and hand rubbed against his cock in his pants. "I'll come take care of you in a minute."

"Yes, Daddy." You kissed Noah's cheek and then leaned down to taste yourself on Bradley's lips. Then you ran into the bedroom and tossed all of your clothing into the hamper, replacing all of it with a new matching bra and thong you paid for with his credit card. "Damn it," you whined. The toy was making you squirm for release, and you were half tempted to touch yourself. You were nervous, but only slightly, because you knew Bradley would do whatever you told him to. So you grabbed the lube from your drawer and settled onto your beautiful, new bed. 

--------------------------

Shit. You were already touching yourself when Bradley walked into the bedroom. Black lingerie, your purple plug peeking out, and you on your back with your fingers in your pussy. "Jesus Christ," he groaned, ripping his shirt off and tossing it on the floor. You looked so young and innocent, even with your ass full of that toy. Bradley couldn't believe the words he was about to speak out loud. "Will you let me fuck you in the ass?"

Wide eyed and writhing around on your back on the bed, you nodded at him. "Yes." He was determined to do this just right. He never wanted to hurt you. He always wanted you to feel good when you were with him. Carefully he removed his jeans and joined you on the bed with his cock hard in his briefs. 

"You've been teasing me with that toy all night," he whispered, pressing a feather light kiss to your lips and pulling away so you'd chase him for more. "Time to see if you can handle something a little bigger."

You whined for him as he kissed down your body. "You're a lot bigger," you gasped when he nibbled on you through your bra. "You'll go slow?"

Bradley hummed against your skin, stretching up to kiss your neck. "I'll do whatever you want. Anything you want. And if you tell me to stop, I'll stop."

"Okay," you whispered. "Just go slow."

He could hear the slight edge of apprehension in your voice, so he took your face in his hand and kissed your cheek. He wanted to be sure this was a good type of nervous, not a bad one. "You are under no obligation to do this, Princess. You already give me more than enough." 

"I know," you replied, meeting his lips with yours.

But he pulled back and forced you to look him in the eye. "Tell me one more time that this is what you want. And tell me that you trust me."

You nibbled on your lip before you said, "I always trust you. And I want to try this. Now make me feel good."

Bradley was grinning as he slipped his hand down your belly and tucked it inside your black underwear. The swirl of his fingers on your clit had you gasping, and soon he pulled your underwear off. You were already wet when he put his mouth on you, and then Bradley thought about edging you to make you squirt for him. But your fingers were rough in his hair, and he knew he would be too far gone to be as gentle as possible if he did that. So he took his time, burying his nose and mouth in your sweet pussy, and licking you everywhere until you came for him. Then he licked all around that plug and admired the tight pucker of your hole wrapped around it.

"Fuck," he gasped, placing a kiss to your inner thigh. He was going to find out just how tight you were. As you rode the little jolts of pleasure still going through your body, Bradley carefully wrapped his arms around your back and got you onto all fours. "Try it like this?" he asked, caging your body in beneath his.

Your words were a little incoherent as you bucked back against him, and he could feel the base of your toy against his cock through his underwear. Oh hell, he needed to pull himself together. He needed something familiar to calm himself down. Bradley unclasped your bra and pressed his chest to your back, watching the strap slide down your arm. Your hips were rocking back, and he moved in unison with you, planting his left hand on the bed and rubbing your tits with his right. 

He kissed along your spine and moaned, "You'll put me in an early grave, I swear it." Your soft giggle had him dragging his lips along your shoulder until he was kissing your neck. "I love you, Baby."

"I love you too, Daddy," you whispered, and it was the sweetest thing. So Bradley stood on his knees behind you, admiring the way you and that toy looked as he spread your legs wide. When he slid his underwear down, his cock bounced up to tap you, nudging the plug and making you groan. He didn't know how this was going to work as he pumped his hand along his girth before slipping himself into your pussy. And that was the familiar thing he needed, clearing his mind as you whined, "I feel so full. My toy and my Daddy."

Bradley smirked and rubbed himself against the base as held your hips. "Just wait," he warned playfully. The pretty curve of your back had him running his hand up and everywhere along your silky skin. Your hair smelled like wildflowers when he kissed your back. And then you were begging him to do it. 

He reached for the lube and drizzled it all over you before coating his cock liberally. Then he fucked your pussy with steady strokes as he carefully eased the toy out of you as you gasped. Your perfect hole gripped along the plug, and Bradley had to count to ten to calm himself down. "Baby," he groaned, tossing the toy aside. "You ready?"

"Yes."

His cock was shiny and slick, resting on his palm, and then he was pressing himself to your asshole, convinced you were going to tell him to stop. You were so tight, he had to bite down on his lip as he pushed. And then you were whining, "More. More," as you squeezed the tip of him so much, he was afraid he'd black out. 

"Princess," he growled, head tipped back as he pushed slowly. So slowly. He was dizzy from it, the slow pace driving him to the edge. "So tight. Holy hell." And then you turned to look at him over your shoulder. Your eyes were glazed over with need, and your lips were parted softly. 

"Feels good," you gasped, and he reached out to run his thumb along your lip. You kissed him. You were perfect. He pushed himself a little deeper, and you kissed his thumb again. He looked down to see himself buried inside you as you licked his thumb. 

"God damn it," he cursed, and you squeezed him a little tighter. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He dipped his thumb into your mouth and whispered, "I can't last like this. Too fucking good. So tight." He was shaking his head, but you were nodding and swirling your tongue along his thumb. He withdrew an inch and thrust, and you started keening. 

If Bradley managed even ten strokes inside your ass, it was a miracle. He went slowly, but it was too much. And you were loud, spurring him on with his thumb tucked between your lips and pressed to your tongue.

Every time you tightened around him, he knew he was going to cum. He was just biding his time for a few more seconds, and then it was too much. He tried to keep his movements steady and fluid as he came inside you, but they were a little jerky. He was grunting your name over and over, trying to get himself under control. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice rough as he slipped his thumb out of your mouth. 

"Mmm, yes," you moaned. "It only hurt a little, and then it felt good."

Bradley brought both hands to your hips and stroked you as he started to gently withdraw from your body. And then his jaw went slack as you were puckered around his tip. It was going to look so pretty, he just knew it. 

"Baby," he whined when he pulled himself free. His white cum was at your opening, and he watched that first droplet as it slid down to your pussy and dripped onto the bed. You were oozing with his finish, and he was transfixed. 

You said his name and made to roll over, but Bradley kept you still with his big hands on your thighs. "Shh," he coaxed as another long drop fell to the bed. And then he licked you clean as you mewled and whimpered. He lapped up every bit of his cum as it leaked out of you, and he cleaned up your pussy as well. 

"Bradley," you whispered as he gently rolled you to your back. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he settled on top of you, careful to keep his full body weight from hurting you. The fucked out, exhausted expression on your face made him smile.

"You did so good, Baby."

"I know," you agreed. "I liked it."

His lips were ghosting over yours as he asked, "Do you need anything? Want me to get a shower ready for us?"

"In a couple minutes," you replied easily. And then Bradley rolled you both to your sides and snuggled you against him with one big hand on your ass.

---------------------------

You were just trying to get through your day at work on Thursday. You just needed to make it to Friday morning when the three of you would be driving up to the lake house to meet Mav, Penny and Amelia. But two of your coworkers were out sick, and you had to pick up all the slack. You even had to text Bradley and let him know you wouldn't be able to pick Noah up or start dinner. 

Bradley Daddy Bradshaw: Take your time. I'll make sandwiches for dinner. See you at home.

Once you had all of the exam rooms cleaned and disinfected, Dr. Kelly found you and said, "Go home. Enjoy your long weekend with your family. That little Noah is the cutest thing."

You laughed and nodded. "Oh, he knows he's adorable. It's getting to be a problem. See you next week." 

Then you made your way to your car and thought about how you and Noah were most definitely going to wear Bradley down, and soon enough you'd have a dog at home. You'd even been working on a shortlist of names for when that fateful day arrived. You picked up a few pet themed coloring books on your lunch break, and when you pulled into the driveway, you took the bag from the front seat. 

The mail truck was just pulling up to your house; he must have been having a late day, too. You walked to the curb to meet him, and he handed everything to you with a wave. As you walked up to the porch, you picked your envelopes out of the stack and left Bradley's separate. Great, your student loan statement was here. You couldn't wait to see how your last payment barely put a dent in things. 

"Hi," you called out as you walked through the living room. "Sorry, I'm so late." But when you looked into the kitchen, Bradley was still in his uniform, calmly making a turkey and cheese sandwich and cutting it into little triangles while Noah colored. 

"Nothing to be sorry about," Bradley rasped, and you kissed his shoulder through his shirt. "I'll make your sandwich next." But you'd already moved on to Noah, smothering him in kisses while he laughed. 

"Check out this dog themed coloring book," you said loudly, earning a glare from Bradley as you set it down in front of Noah. "Isn't this little brown puppy on the cover just adorable?"

"I want a dog," Noah whined as he opened the cover and got to work. You were betting you'd have a dog by next month. 

"Relentless," Bradley groaned, and you wrapped your arms around him from behind. "Did you have a good day?" he asked. "Ready for the lake?"

"Yes. And definitely." He tried to hand you a sandwich on a plate, but you said, "Let me go through my mail first before I forget. I want to make sure I log in and make my student loan payment tonight before we leave in the morning." You took the sandwich from him and noticed that he looked a little timid now. "What's wrong?"

"Well. Nothing's wrong," he said quietly as you bit into the sandwich and then set it down again to open up your envelope. But he had you distracted, and you realized too late that you had opened a piece of his mail from Tracy by mistake. You skimmed along the page and you gasped as tears welled up in your eyes. 

I, Bradley Bradshaw, a legal adult of sound mind and competency, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament (hereinafter, “Last Will & Testament”) and do hereby revoke any and all wills and codicils heretofore made jointly or severally by me.

In the event I shall die as the sole parent of minor child(ren), then I appoint as guardian over minor child(ren)

You stopped when you read your name and dropped the papers to the floor as you burst into tears. "Bradley," you gasped, and he looked up from where he was putting mayonnaise on a slice of bread. You bent to pick up the papers, but you were so emotional, you could barely see, so you just sat on the floor next to them and looked up at him. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, kneeling down and cupping your face in his hands. "Princess, tell me what's wrong."

You swiped at your tears with your hands and whispered, "You trust me that much?"

"What are you talking about, Baby?" he asked, and then he reached for one of the papers on the floor. "Your student loans?"

He was about to realize what you had read, so you quickly said, "I didn't mean to open it, I tore into the wrong envelope. I thought it was my student-"

Bradley silenced your sentence with a kiss as you sobbed. When he released your lips, you could still feel his nose on your cheek as you tried to get your breathing under control. "Yes. I trust you that much. If something happens to me, I know you'll take care of Noah."

You threw your arms around his neck and pushed him back onto his butt and climbed into his lap. "I would. I really would."

He held you close and softly said, "I was planning on telling you this weekend. The paperwork isn't finalized yet, but I can call Tracy's office and have it completed at any time."

You kissed him and said, "Call first thing tomorrow morning."

"Okay. I'll call first thing tomorrow morning." He was smiling as you let your forehead rest against his. 

"Why are you on the floor?" Noah asked, leaning over the table to look at you both. 

Bradley scooped you up as he stood and set you down on your feet, but you kept your arms around him. "Mommy was just being silly, Bub. How about you put the crayons down and eat your sandwich." Then he kissed your hair and said, "You better eat your sandwich, too."

You took your plate and the mail to the table and sat down across from Noah. You watched him sip his milk through a straw cup and then eat all of the cheese out of the sandwich first. He was perfect. And you'd never have to be without him. Bradley trusted you with his child more than anyone else. And you knew he wanted to have another one.

As he sat down next to you with his own sandwich and a beer, you opened your student loan envelope and started to read. But you could feel his eyes on you as he sipped his Heineken. 

"You okay, Daddy?" you asked softly, wiping at at stray tear.

"Just read your mail," he replied. When you looked back down at the paper in your hands, you saw that instead of nearly ten thousand dollars, your balance due for nursing school was zero.

"What did you do?" you gasped, looking him in the eye. 

He just shrugged and bit into his own sandwich, smiling as he chewed. "Paid off your loans. Your interest rate was so high, you'd still be paying on them by the time you're my age. Which is dumb when I have the money to take care of it now."

"Bradley!" Your eyes were welling with tears again as you said, "You didn't have to do that!"

His voice was stern as you crawled into his lap again. "I trust you with Noah, one hundred percent. The money doesn't matter as much as that."

You let your head rest on his shoulder as you straddled his thigh, and his big hand was rubbing your back. "You still didn't have to," you whispered. "But thank you. And now I can help you with your mortgage and bills instead."

"You just save your money, and we'll figure it out later."

But you already knew you'd talk him into letting you pay for something. And the rest could go into a savings account for school for Noah. And anything leftover could be used to plan for the exciting future you were going to experience with the two of them. 

---------------------------

Daddy keeps on winning now. And Princess doesn't have to worry about the things that shouldn't matter. Next up, the lake house. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 37

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@throwinsauce

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

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@bcon24

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@backinwonderl4nd

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

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@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

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@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

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@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

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@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

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@desert-fern

@sylviebell

@wkndwlff

@horseslovers2016

[mj0702]

@helen-with-an-a ... I take your raise and go all in...

The whole Barca team was gathered in Mapís and Ingrids garden having a small get together before everyone left for their holidays – or charities as that's how Alexia likes to spend her time off. There where small groups standing together having small conversations amongst themselves while Lucy got suck with the task of grilling the meat wearing a “Don't kiss the cook”-apron which Mapí, Pina and you ignored and smooched your sister quiet theatrical before you all got smacked away with the tongs aggressively. It was a nice warm summer night in Barcelona and everyone was having a good time enjoying the time with their friends. Everyone? Oh no... not everyone.

“ARSENAL??????!!!!!!!!” your voice could be heard from inside the house and probably in the whole neighborhood

The whole team stopped talking and looked towards the living room door which connected the inside with the garden

“ARSENAL???!!!!” you screeched again as you appeared in the door looking with wide eyes at Keira

“What?” your sister shook her head at your actions “You finally lost your plot?”

“Why am I finding out ONLINE you're transferred to ARSENAL??!!” you ignored Lucy and just stared at Keira

“No one...” the blonde started knowing exactly what you meant carefully making her way towards you but you already took a step back “... Bitsy”

“No... no you don't get to call me that anymore you backstabbing B...” you started before your sister interrupted you

“Oy... watch your mouth!” Lucy said getting angry herself – still not knowing what was going on but she didn't raise you to talk to Keira of all people like that

“You know what... I don't care... you're dead to me” you looked Keira straight in the eye your voice full of venom

“Bitsy” the blonde tried again tears forming in her eyes but before she made it to the door you were already gone

“What's going on Kei??” Lucy asked lowly ushering her ex-girlfriend inside getting her away from all those questioning looks from their teammates

“Arsenal offered a LOT of money for me to transfer back home” Keira sniffed as her tears started to fall “Nothing is set in stone but obviously there where rumors...”

“Fuck me” your sister groaned loudly and Ona joined them since she became good friends with Keira before she even started dating Lucy

“What's going on?” the small spaniard asked worried looking around if she could spot you

“My sister is being a plonker again” Lucy said “... she read something online and she didn't come to talk to Kei instead she got to her own conclusions and OF COURSE they are wrong but she's gone now”

“We need to find her....” Keira suddenly stood up wiping her tears away marching towards the door you left through mere minutes ago

“Kei you know it's no use... we'll find her either if the Police picks her up or if she wants to be found.. Barcelona is too big to search it... even if we pull all hands on deck” your sister said after she caught up with her ex-girlfriend holding her back grabbing her wrist

“I need to do something Lucy” the blonde said and Lucy and Ona saw how it stressed the english woman not knowing about your whereabouts

“You need some alcohol in your system” Lucy said pulling Keira back signaling Ona to inform their capitan about what happened

“What if she...” Keira started trying to turn around again

“No what ifs... she'll be back at some point” your sister said firmly “... when did our roles reverse? Normally I'm the one panicking”

“Yeah well she didn't call you a backstabbing bitch and then ran off” the blonde deadpanned while she let Lucy pull her back outside and Ona immediately pushed a beer into the blondes hand

“I knew I would find you here...” you suddenly heard behind you scaring the absolute shit out of you

“Go away” you said harshly as you aggressively wiped away your tears

“No... my english might not be good but we talk” the dark haired spaniard said as she sat down next to you in the sand looking at the Ocean

“No offense but you ask people if they work” you said raising your eyebrow

“Yeah well she was at every game... I got... confundida” Aitana shrugged her shoulders

“You what?” you looked at her confused

“Confundida... ehrm.. I not know if she works” the dark haired looked at you and suddenly understood what she meant

“Confused... the word is confused” you smiled very lightly

“Sí... confused... but that's not the... punto...” Aitana said before she thought for a second “... point... that's not the point why I walked away from a great party”

“You can walk right back... I'm not stopping you” you said defensively

“I can't... you hurt mi hermanita” the spaniard said sternly and for the first time you saw the protective side of Aitana Bonmatí off the field

“Your what?” you tried to dodge the bullet – you knew very well what “hermanita” meant

“Stop it... you hurt Keira... I want to know why” Aitana said looking straight at you while you kept your eyes trained forward watching the Ocean

“You wouldn't understand” you said sadly laying your head on your knees hugging your legs

“Then try to understand me” the dark haired said a little softer as your body language told her you try to close yourself off and she needed to act quickly

“It's easier to hurt than get hurt... It's easier to end something then being ended... she's leaving... she's leaving not only Barcelona but me too... She left before – but she left to come here... I knew it got easier again to see Lucy AND Keira again... but now? I don't want to go back to England... I rather go to Germany... but I want me family in one Place... Luce and Ona are great... they're good for each other... but no one can take Keiras place... so I rather push her away and make her hate me than to see her go through Security here in Barcelona for the last time knowing she's not coming back” it suddenly broke out of you at some point your voice cracking and Aitana saw the tears rolling down your cheeks but let you talk “... I love Leah and Beth and Kyra and everyone at Arsenal... but it's not Keiras club... not her style... Her club is City.... it's the only Jersey that fits her except for the national one... Arsenal wouldn't even know what to do with someone as good as Kei...”

“So you thought spitting... names at her would work out in your favor?” Aitana asked lowly trying to get to the ground of your actions

“I didn't think... I just got so angry...” you cried silently “.. Lucy did the same you know.. when she left for Lyon... she didn't tell me... I found out online.... I never thought Kei would do the same”

“What's the real problem?” the spaniard pushed you slightly knowing that wouldn't be all

“She... she.... she...” you started to cry harder and even you were a part of the team now Aitana and you weren't super close but now the spaniard carefully pulled you into her side

“It's okay bebé... está bien bebé... déjalo salir... encontraremos una solución...” Aitana mumbled against your hair holding you closely while you sobbed heartbreakingly into her shirt

“She'll forget about me...” you sobbed out fisting Aitas shirt not knowing what else to do

“Y/n... we don't even know if she is leaving – yes, Arsenal offered money for her but Barca is not interested in letting her go... neither is Keira – she doesn't want to leave” the spaniard said softly

“She'll just forget about me” you sobbed not getting control over your emotions

“She would never” Aitana kept her soft tone “... you ARE her pequeño... even if she got hit in the head and doesn't remember her own name – she'll never olvidar tú”

“Why would she never olive? She hates olives” you calmed down a little bit but still couldn't stop the tears

“Olvidar... you speak catalan but not spanish?” Aitana chuckled at your confusion and started do wipe your tears away with her thumb “She'll never forget you bebé”

“I could never Bitsy... and whatever you throw at me I won't go away... you are to important to me to let you go or give up chasing after you” you heard Keiras voice behind you and before you even started thinking about it your body reacted and you pushed yourself off Aitana springing up running.

This time Keira knew what your reaction would be and reacted faster than you so you ran straight into her and before you knew what was happening Keira held you in a death grip against her.

“Calm Bits... it's okay... you're okay... sssshhh... calm down” the blonde whispered against your hair as you tried to fight her

“.... you're okay...” Keira repeated it over and over again until your fighting got less and she felt the tears against her neck and how you suddenly cling to her like your life depended on it

Keira looked up meeting Aitanas sorrowful look and mouthed a “Gracias” at her friend as she kept hold of you swaying you slightly from left to right trying to calm you down

[hoe-for-hopper]

Where's Billy?

Stu Macher x Fem!Reader x Billy Loomis

WARNINGS: SMUT (obviously), Unprotected piv, oral (m receiving), like a couple mentions of a knife.

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: I'm bad at summaries, okay. But honestly, hardly any plot. You know me, No Plot, Just Vibes. Party at Stu's...smut.

A/N: I lowkey hate this lmao. Like I actually hate it. It wasn't what I had in mind, and by the time I got time to actually sit down and write, I had no motivation to write. :( Maybe you'll like it, but if you don't I AM SO SORRY.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SMUT BELOW THE CUT~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The downstairs level of Stu’s house is crowded with people. A horror movie is playing on tv, thanks to Randy, but Stu is also playing music from another speaker system in a different room. You find yourself alone for the first time all night, neither Billy nor Stu glued to your side for once and you head to the bathroom to try to take a break from all of the noise, but of course someone was in there.

Throwing your head back in a groan, you started making your way to the garage for another beer. But before you could reach the door, Stu stepped in front of you, his hand held out with his palm facing you. “I don’t think you want to go in there right now, sweetheart.”

Rolling your eyes, you try to sidestep him, but his arm darts out to stop you. “And why is that?”

“No reason. Just don’t want you to miss out on any fun.” His mouth turns into a wide grin before he sticks his tongue out. He grabs your shoulders to spin you around, his arms moving down to circle around your waist, slowly moving you forward. “Come on, baby, let’s get back to the party.”

Stu leads you into the living room where Randy is animatedly explaining the “rules” of horror movies to everyone sitting on the couch and standing around the rest of the room.

Your eyes scan the backs of heads. Twisting your body to turn your head up to Stu you ask, “Where’s Billy?”

“Probably in the bathroom.” Stu snuzzles his mouth to your neck, his hands lowering to your hips. “What do you say we kick all these losers out?”

You stand on your toes, still not quite tall enough to whisper into his ear, “I’d say it would be a great idea.”

Stu kisses the top of your head before turning you around, “Go hangout for a minute, I’m gonna find Billy.”

You take a seat on the arm of the couch closest to Randy and listen to him explain how not to die in a horror movie. It feels like Randy has been talking forever and as much as you actually do enjoy listening to him, you’re ready to spend alone time with Billy and Stu. 

Finally, you hear the music stop from the other room before Stu returns and begins ushering everyone out.

“Hey man, make sure you return that tape on time, okay? Seriously, don’t be late again.” Randy tells Stu as he’s the last to leave.

“Uh huh. Yeah. Will do, buddy.” Stu practically shoves him out the door before closing and locking it. He turns to you and says, “You ready to finish the movie, baby?” You nod your head as you follow Stu back towards the living room.

You know you’re not actually going to finish the movie, Stu definitely has other plans with the way he’s had his hands all over you for most of the night. He plops down on the couch and you sit next to him, but he grabs your leg and pulls you into his lap. He trails kisses from your forehead to your chest, his hands roaming from your waist to your ass. 

Pulling back, you ask, “Okay, seriously, where is Billy?”

Stu rolls his eyes and nips at your neck, “Probably grabbing a beer.”

He doesn’t give you much time to think about his answer as he continues kissing your chest. “Take these off.” He snaps the waistband of your underwear against your hip and as you stand, he holds your skirt up for you to pull them down. You start moving to take your skirt off too, but Stu stops you. “I think Billy would want you to keep that on.” He pulls you back into his lap, lifting your shirt over your head. 

You don’t hear Billy come in, but you feel as he unhooks your bra from behind you, “Why didn’t you wait for me?” There’s a dark edge to his voice.

Stu pulls your bra off the rest of the way before answering, “Sorry man, just couldn’t help it.” In one swift motion Billy sits next to Stu and pulls you onto his own lap. “What the hell, man?!”

Mockingly, Billy says, “Sorry man, just couldn’t help it.” His mouth is on yours as he scoots you back and unzips his jeans, pulling them down just enough and you can feel his length graze against your core as he rocks your hips forward. “Thanks for getting her ready for me.” 

“Whatever.” You can hear Stu standing up and undressing. 

You’re about to ask Billy where he’s been, but he shoves himself inside of you without warning and you moan against his mouth instead. His hands are on your ass helping you lift yourself up and down. Your head drops down to his shoulder and one of his hands move to the back of your neck, pulling you back to look at him. “Look at me, baby.” Billy stares into your eyes as he pumps in and out of you. His head gives a subtle nod and then you’re left feeling empty as he lifts you off of him.

Stu picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he thrusts into you. Your grip tightens around Stu’s neck as he walks, still inside of you, up the stairs and towards his bedroom. As soon as you enter the room, Stu is placing you gently on the bed before crawling in next to you.

“Billy, where were you?” You ask as he crawls on top of you, one hand laced through your hair, the other on your hip.

He kisses your forehead, then your neck before answering. “I was just getting a beer, baby.” You didn’t notice whether or not Billy had a beer when he’d entered the living room, but then again you’d been busy with Stu. But what had taken him so long? The beer was just in the garage and there were even a few in the refrigerator in the kitchen. 

Before you could think too hard about it, Stu is pushing Billy off of you and pulling you back onto his lap. “Come on, Billy. Don’t you think you’ve had enough fun for the night?” With his back leaning against the bed frame, Stu pushes you up and lines himself up with your entrance. His hands find your nipples and he grazes his thumb over them as he thrusts up into you. Your head falling forward as you moan into Stu’s ear. “You should feel her, man. She’s so wet.” 

The bed shifts as Billy kneels beside you, reaching one hand down to rub circles over your clit, Stu holding your skirt up with one hand. You can feel your climax approaching and your moans become louder. Stu senses this, “She’s gonna cum, Billy.” Billy puts more pressure on your clit as Stu fucks into you harder. Billy’s other hand grabs your chin, turning your head so you’re facing him as you gush around Stu.

“My turn.” Billy’s eyes are on yours as he pulls you off of Stu and positions you on all fours. “You ready, baby?” 

You nod your head yes, but Billy grabs your hair and pulls signaling you to use your words. “Yes.”

Without giving you time to come down from your climax, Billy pushes into you, thrusting hard, his hands gripping your hips so hard that it would hurt if you weren’t so turned on. “Fuck.” 

Stu moves to your front, tapping the head of his cock against your lips. His head falls back as you open your mouth to let him in. Both men are thrusting into you, Billy’s hands on your hips and Stu’s in your hair.

You moan around Stu’s cock as Billy fucks into you rougher than before, his tumbs digging into the dimples of your back. One of Billy’s hands leaves your hips, looking up at Stu you see an excitement in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Billy slows his thrusts as you feel the fabric of your skirt fall away and then cold metal against your back. You try to turn, but Stu holds your head and continues thrusting into your mouth.

You can feel Stu’s cock pulse once then twice before he releases himself into your mouth. “Swallow.” He pulls out and wipes the drool from your chin. You swallow as best you can while Billy pounds into you. 

“Show Stu you swallowed.” Billy moves his hand from your hips and grabs your hair to pull your head up so you’re looking at Stu. Opening your mouth, you stick out your tongue. “Good girl.” 

Your second orgasm builds and you clench around Billy’s cock making him fuck into harder.

Stu leans back against the bedframe watching as his friend pounds into you, the cold metal still touching your back, pushing against you harder as Billy’s thrusts grow more erratic. “I’m gonna come, baby, inside you, okay?” You can only nod your head yes as Billy thrusts once more and he fills you with warm liquid. 

Stu pulls you towards him, placing your head on his chest as you hear the clink of something being set on the nightstand. Stu holds your head in place so you’re not able to see as Billy crawls into bed on your other side. He throws his arm around you and plants kisses down the back of your neck, Stu drawing circles on your chest.

You grind your ass into Billy’s length and plant sloppy kisses to the side of Stu’s mouth. “Billy, I think she’s ready for round two.” Stu laughs.

Stu turns you over and pulls you into him while you give the same sloppy kisses to Billy. Stu’s hand reaches around to your front and he runs his fingers through your folds feeling Billy’s warmth mixed with your own seep out of you. “I want both of you this time.”

Billy is laughing as he pulls you up on top of him with Stu positioning himself behind you, holding onto your hips as Billy rubs circles over your peaked nipples. Stu helps to hold you up as Billy lines himself up with your entrance and pushes into you.

You can hear Stu opening a bottle of lube and massaging it onto himself before entering your ass. You moan as you throw your head back onto Stu’s shoulder. As you open your eyes, you see the glint of silver metal on the nightstand. It takes a second to register, but then you ask, “Billy, why is there a knife on the nightstand?”

[swordgrace]

𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘 — 𝐈.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ daemon targaryen x otto’s wife!reader x otto hightower.

synopsis: as the young wife of otto hightower, your joy is threadbare, and your husband is absent. when you have a chance encounter with the rogue prince at the heir’s tournament, you become entangled in a web of desire that you cannot get out of.

SERIES — 1/?

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — not requested, part of a series.

༺ WORD COUNT: 11.5K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT!, dubious consent / mild coercion, infidelity, cheating (on otto), legal age gap (for reader/otto and reader/daemon), inexperienced reader, otto is an absent husband, seduction, sexual tension & yearning, reader is sexually repressed, loss of virginity, risk of getting caught, choking, biting / marking, begging, groping, scratching, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, finger-fucking, p in v sex (unprotected), multiple positions, possessive daemon, mention of child death.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am so incredibly excited for this fic series, I feel like it could be a good one! I really appreciate all of the support I’ve been getting on the Aemond fic, another one will be coming up soon! Hello to all of my new followers, I am so excited to have you all here! Please enjoy this part, it’s a big one, but it sets the stage for future parts!

𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 — you often saw inklings of it in Alicent’s eyes whenever you held her gaze, and noticed the subtle twitch of her mouth with any attempt at conversation. It always fell short, a relationship that had no ounce of potential, nothing to kindle it.

Sometimes, you wished that you could hold her hands, cuticles raw, and tell her that you were one and the same. It always made you uncomfortable to contemplate the closeness in age between you and Alicent, and the longer you dwelled on it, the more bitter you felt.

You were only three years her senior — one-and-twenty, married to her father, Otto Hightower — the hand of the King. Marriage was a concept that you were groomed for, and to be wed to a man of such stature and importance was a great victory for your house.

Otto was an absent husband, at best. His proceedings as Hand left him occupied, and whenever he did return to you, he was often burying himself in whatever business the King had assigned him to. Otto often took much of it on himself, with little time left for you.

You were nothing more than an accessory — a beautiful accessory, at that.

Otto had little desire for another child, and for that, you were eternally grateful to the Gods for allowing such a thing. It was a rarity for a man of his station to take up a wife with no intention of children. In all actuality, he simply missed his wife and yearned for her presence.

Whatever you were, you partially filled the void, but it would never be the same.

There was an emptiness within you that intensified as each day passed, a gaping hole in your body that simply collected dust. You were nothing more than a shimmering jewel for Otto to reveal in the public eye, but put away when it was all said and done.

It wasn’t a horrible existence, but you were unfulfilled. Life felt mundane, and despite the lavish and privileged setting you dwelled within, everything seemed gray, as if you were simply gazing out of a window, seeing the happiness of everyone else.

The more time you spent toiling over your woes and steeping yourself into self-resentment and hopelessness, the more restless you became. You didn’t want to keep pushing yourself into that fray of unhappiness, not when it weighed upon you so heavily already.

Appearances were sacred to Otto, who insisted you join him at the Heir’s Tournament, a celebration to usher in King Viserys and Queen Aemma’s newborn child. A joust and seven days of feasting and revelry were upon you, a routine affair whenever royal children were born.

In the Tower of the Hand, surrounded by a flock of fussing handmaidens, you smoothed your palms across the deep emerald gown, silk soft underneath your fingertips. Your beauty was unmatched — the rare jewel from the North that Otto Hightower had stolen for himself.

It would be a long day, yet the sun shimmered down upon King’s Landing and the Red Keep — a good sign of the festivities to come. You were the picture of a true maiden, not an imperfection in-sight, thanks to the handiwork of your numerous handmaidens.

A knock at your chamber door alerted you to your husband’s presence — it was always stern and rigid.

“Come!” You called, peering at yourself through the large mirror of an upright vanity. The only thing that happened to be missing was a stone around your neck, but you had an impressive array to choose from.

Otto stood within your doorway, always so formal and calculating. He was a difficult man to read — you had been wed for a handful of months, and he was still that way after all this time. “Hm.” He appraised you with a stoic gaze, unwavering and indiscernible.

Sheepishly, you turned for him to see, folding your hands together. “Is this suitable for the Tournament?” You inquired, the colors of your regalia that of House Hightower — emerald with gold embellishments.

In Otto Hightower’s eyes, you would never measure up to his first wife, his true love — but you were perfectly adequate, and that was all you needed to be. He stepped forward, staring down at you with an inkling of warmth within his eyes, tracing a finger across the soft slope of your jaw. “You look resplendent.”

That singular grain of warmth was something you would hold onto, and you mustered up enough of a smile to press a chaste kiss against Otto’s cheek. The gesture was brief, yet even the Hand himself seemed perplexed by it. You wanted to show affection, but Otto never seemed interested in reciprocating.

His kind words were enough to appease you, prompting you to smile as you bowed your head. “Thank you, husband.” Pleased by this, you made sure to string a necklace of peridot around your neck before Otto offered you his arm. It was a courtly procedure — nothing inherently affectionate about it, as you expected.

The walk to the tournament grounds was a lengthy one, but it gave you time to admire the buzz of the Red Keep. The excitement for the birth of a new Targaryen heir was palpable, felt by all you passed. Otto was always stalwart, with a pensive and unreadable expression.

Both you and Otto joined Alicent and Rhaenyra in the stands above the jousting grounds, with crowds of common folk and nobles alike joining in the rancor. Alicent seemed less than thrilled to see you, but you weren’t met with her usual icy indifference.

“Lady Hightower,” King Viserys greeted you with a kindly smile, prompting you to drop into a curtsy. “I am surprised to see that Otto brought you along. It is good to have you here.”

“It is a beautiful day, my King — I certainly hope this favor shines down upon you and your family.” You replied, offering the King a pleasant smile. Admittedly, you were rather excited to see a joust — it was good to be outside amongst your peers, not hidden away within the Tower of the Hand.

Your manners and pleasantries, the eloquent way in which you spoke to others, was a quality that Otto did admire about you. You were soft and kindhearted, possessing all of the gentle traits of a young maiden, a Lady in the making. If it weren’t for such qualities, he might’ve favored you a little less.

As you sat beside Otto, he remained rigid, gazing down upon the field. His eldest son, Gwayne, was amongst the many competitors preparing for the Joust. You had met Gwayne on a handful of occasions, and whilst he did not harbor as much bitterness as Alicent might’ve, he was still rather obtuse about your presence.

You had learned to develop a thick skin — as much as you desired to be friends to both Alicent and Gwayne, you were not their mother. You never wanted that role, either. Motherhood, especially at your young age, sounded most undesirable.

Admittedly, you were enamored with the horses, too — the beautiful beasts that carried their riders to glory, or otherwise. Your love of animals was well-known, something that Otto occasionally treated you to.

Prince Daemon Targaryen, brother to the King, rode out upon a steed as black as the dusk, bearing the Targaryen crest upon his shield. The draconic motif of his armor and helmet had made him appear fierce — a most intimidating competitor.

Otto seemed less than pleased — you knew that your husband despised the Prince, and the feeling was mutual. In your brief encounters with Daemon, often in Otto’s presence, their disdain was palpable. It was all vitriol and hatred, a constant battle for who could obtain the upper hand.

Knowing that Daemon chose Gwayne to joust to spite your husband made you somewhat apprehensive, but admittedly, sometimes you felt that Otto deserved to have his skin crawl at times. You didn’t like it for Alicent’s sake, her brother in harm’s way, but you had to stake in it.

The Prince rode forward, parading around the length of the field before he approached the royal stand, jousting lance held high. His lips curled into a lopsided smirk, and suddenly, you found that he was looking directly at you — those violet hues of his held your bashful stare.

“Lady Hightower,” He called, loud enough for those to hear it. Alicent began to stand, but Daemon shook his head. “Not you, my Lady.” He gestured toward you with his lance, sneer subtle and his eyes full of intrigue and the desire to make Otto Hightower squirm.

Visibly surprised, you looked to Otto, who seemed entirely displeased — but he wasn’t one to make his weakness known. “Otto, should I …” You trailed off, glancing toward the small table with your favor sitting atop it.

“I am fairly certain that I can win these games with ease, by having your favor, Lady Hightower.” Daemon spoke loud enough for all around to hear, inviting an audience — in all actuality, he simply wanted Otto to bear witness to charming you. “Would you do me the great pleasure of granting me your favor?”

Otto grimaced, countenance beginning to simmer with anger, deep below the surface. He bristled, jaw unnaturally tight. His fingers curled into a fist, yet he had no intention of denying you such an act, if you so desired. This was a tournament, after all — and any reaction that he gave, Daemon would indulge himself in.

Startled, you looked to Otto for approval, yet he offered you none. Reluctantly, you rose to your feet, retrieving a wreath of beautiful blossoms — gold, ochre, and shades of pink. You stepped toward the terrace’s edge, meeting the handsome visage of Daemon Targaryen, with his lance ready to receive your favor.

“Where has your husband been keeping you all this time, my Lady?” Daemon questioned, loud enough for only you to hear. Your breath hitched within your throat at his brashness, lips parting slightly as you cradled your favor between your hands.

Instead, you dipped down, offering the Prince a sheepish smile, wrought with some confusion as you tossed it onto his lance. “Good luck, my Prince. I hope to see your victory in this joust.” You nodded, keeping your formalities intact before you curtsied, swiftly clamoring to find your place beside Otto.

Daemon smirked, his gaze hot enough to melt right through you, if you let it. It never left you, even when you ascended the steps to sit beside your husband, the Rogue Prince ensured that you writhed beneath his watchful eyes.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, Daemon’s incendiary stare was something that you were so unaccustomed to — Otto never looked at you that way, as if you were a treasure, something to be coveted. It left you to mull over your thoughts for the entirety of the tournament.

The carnage that ensued was typical for a joust, especially one with so many warring factions. Men tore one another from their horses, dueled in the dirt, bashed skulls in. The tangy scent of copper filled the air, one that had unfortunately become ingrained in you.

It brought you back to your youth, as you recalled your sister falling from her steed, head crushed to nothingness upon the rocks. The scent of blood would always loom over you like a black cloud for as long as you lived.

Otto glanced toward you, reaching for your hand as he gave it a subtle squeeze. He did not offer any words of reassurance, lips a thin, pensive line before one of the Maesters stepped in behind him, whispering news into his ear. His expression changed instantaneously.

Something was wrong — you could feel it in your marrow.

Alicent looked to you and Otto, and you saw her fingers, picked bloody and raw, and you felt nothing but sympathy. When Otto immediately stood, letting go of your hand, you watched with a furrowed brow as he momentarily disappeared — King Viserys was long gone, absent for a majority of the Tournament.

It was only when Daemon Targaryen and Criston Cole began to duel, that your attention went elsewhere. You watched in subtle awe as Daemon fought, clad in black armor and crimson scales, the colors of House Targaryen. Dark Sister in his right hand, thrusting at the Dornish Knight with an unholy vengeance.

At last, when it ended with Daemon haughtily retreating from the field, you wondered where your husband had gone, disappearing altogether. He had left behind guards to escort you back to the Red Keep, but his absence left you feeling more afraid of the walk back.

Nonetheless, you gathered your skirts, knowing that Alicent had long since left with Rhaenyra. You didn’t worry for her safety — as long as she was with the Princess, no harm would befall her.

“The Hand advised that we take you back to the Keep at once, Lady Hightower.” One of your guards prompted, ushering you towards the stands as the pair assisted you in getting back down. There was a sense of urgency in their steps, but you were confused by it. Had something happened that required Otto’s immediate attention?

You descended the steps from the stand, finding yourself in a sea of nobles and commoners alike, attempting to return to their homes and daily lives. Your guards remained vigilant, assisting you in pushing through towards the stables. There was a quieter path there, a shorter way to the Red Keep.

“This way, my Lady.” One guard made way, allowing you to go first as you made it to the tournament stables. Many of the Knights, those that still drew breath, were collecting their coin and saddling their horses, preparing to make an exit. There was one horse in particular that caught your eye — Daemon’s steed, as black as night.

The Prince himself appeared from the obscured view of the tent, and you nearly scuttled away at the insistence of your protectors, but Daemon saw you first.

“Lady Hightower,” Daemon greeted you, voice often tinged with something sly, a hint of arrogance. Those violet eyes of his bore down upon you as he approached, still clad in his armor. There were smears of dirt upon his face, flecks of crimson, yet it did not detract from his beauty. “Have you come to praise my victory?”

The guards who stood at your flank seemed less than thrilled with this interaction that was forming. They seemed to dislike Daemon as much as Otto did — and you wondered if there was an influence present.

“We are merely passing through, to return to the Red Keep,” Your soft gaze flickered toward Daemon’s horse, admiring its flawless dark coat. “Your horse is beautiful. It served you well through the tournament.”

Daemon noticed that flicker of admiration and happiness within your eyes, coaxing the stallion closer with a mere tug of the reins. He brought it close, close enough for you to touch. “He is yours, if you want him.” His words might’ve struck you as sardonic, but Daemon appeared to be genuine in such an action.

As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t accept such a gift — and when would you have time to ride, anyway? Otto would never let you past the Keep’s gates, let alone into the forests beyond. “That is too kind of you, my Prince. I am afraid that I must decline — it would be unfair to have a horse that I cannot give any attention to.” You sighed, your features somewhat melancholy.

Fascinating — quite the ironic parallel to your own situation. If you did not see the amusement in it, Daemon most certainly did. “How thoughtful of you, Lady Hightower.” He hesitated, lips twitching into a rather mocking smirk at his next words. “Where is that charming husband of yours?”

You should’ve been offended on Otto’s behalf, especially with the Prince’s contemptuous tone, but you felt nothing. You couldn’t retort, mouth becoming dry as you cleared your throat. “My husband found himself preoccupied with duties as Hand, my Prince. He needed to leave.”

Daemon scoffed, lip curling slightly as he glanced toward your guards. “So he left you with this pathetic display of protection?” The Prince immediately drew the ire of the guards, who seemed less than pleased with Daemon’s remarks. “I could gut them before they could draw their swords.”

“Is that a threat, Commander?” One of your guards hissed, grip tightening upon the pommel of his shortsword. The weight of the scenario made you nervous, prompting you to direct your gaze toward Daemon, whose mouth was upturned in an amused smirk.

“Hardly. It is a promise.” Daemon retorted, hands interlocked atop the pommel of Dark Sister — a legendary blade of Valyrian Steel. You knew that your feeble guards were no match to a swordsman of Daemon’s caliber.

Before steel could be brandished, you immediately extended your hand, anxiousness welling within your heart. It frightened you to be so close to potential violence, but you had some station. “Enough — all of you!” You quipped, hands beginning to quiver.

Daemon chuckled, seemingly perplexed by your sudden display of authority. He did not dispute your call for peace, staring at your guards with a narrowed gaze. “If you are seeking better company than these fucking imbeciles, I will gladly escort you to the Red Keep, Lady Hightower.”

You shouldn’t — Otto would be so displeased.

Every fiber of your body screamed at you to turn away Prince Daemon’s proposal. It was improper, and you knew that your Lord husband would become cantankerous if he were to find out that Daemon was near you, let alone providing passage back to the Red Keep.

He could sense your hesitation, born out of loyalty to your withering husband, Daemon assumed. The conflict that danced within your eyes was one that he wholly intended on manipulating — you were much too sweet. The Prince clicked his tongue, awaiting your response.

“It isn’t a difficult question, my Lady.” Perhaps, his tone might’ve put you off just a little bit, but he was confident that you would accept. Daemon regarded you with those lilac hues of his, calculating and sly.

“Yes,” You interjected, much to the disdain of your guards, “but my guards will stay with me.” It was the smartest option — if you were left alone with Daemon, you feared what rumors could be spun from such an action. You were naive at times, but not completely stupid.

Daemon knew this — he knew your intentions, but he also knew his own. With a sardonic laugh, he readied his belongings, gesturing to take your leave onto the cobblestone streets. “Do you have such little trust in your Prince?”

A ripple of heat fluttered over your features, subsiding just as quickly as it came. You twisted your hands together, fingers interlocked as you fell quiet. Daemon’s salacious reputation followed him like a shadow — violent, promiscuous, and arrogant. It was common knowledge that the Prince possessed crude interests.

“It is not that, my Prince. My Lord Husband will wonder why the guards are at the Keep before I am. I do not want him to worry — he has enough to attend to as it is as Hand of the King.” A threadbare excuse, at best, but much to your relief, Daemon let the matter rest, for now.

The violet-eyed Prince let out a scoff at that, yet he elected not to fluster you further. Your announcement of Otto’s station was most amusing, as if he needed reminding. He joined you, walking side-by-side as you made it onto the noble path back to the Red Keep. It was a safer trek than taking the commoner’s route.

Silence filled the gap between you both, with your guards tailing you and Daemon, ensuring that no one interfered with such royal affairs. He was growing quite bored with the lack of conversation — especially with someone like you. You were interesting and new, something to be inspected.

“Isn’t it the duty of a husband to attend to his wife?” Daemon questioned, attempting to toy with you. He thoroughly enjoyed getting under Otto Hightower’s skin, but admittedly, he did want to know more about you. You were beautiful — a pretty maiden hanging upon the Hand’s arm; he wondered how that came to be.

Your jaw tightened, causing your frustration to brew as you held your skirts within one hand, continuing to make your way up the steps. “Why are you not in the Vale with Lady Royce, if that is what you truly think?” You quipped, somewhat unnerved with how he picked apart your marriage.

Otto wasn’t attentive — if anything, he only became attentive when appearances mattered most. There was no desire nor genuine interaction outside of that. You lived a very lonely life, even if it seemed so wonderful and lavish on the outside.

Daemon chuckled, bemused by your fiery retort. You became so flustered whenever he successfully managed to poke and prod at you. “I’ve no interest in my Bronze Bitch,” He replied, his tone dripping with an underlying venom, “The sheep in the Vale are prettier.”

You huffed, brows furrowing together. This seemed like a horrible idea, allowing Daemon to escort you back to the Keep. He was crass and unpredictable, yet you couldn’t help but find some merit in his examination of your relationship with Otto.

“I am sure that there are plenty of worthwhile subjects in your City to keep you satisfied, my Prince. This isn’t the Vale.” You exhaled, exasperated and agitated that Otto had simply left you at the Tournament grounds.

He could sense it — your repression, the twinge of desperation laced within your voice. Daemon didn’t expect any wife of Otto Hightower to be truly sated and satisfied, but you were the true picture of a jewel locked away in a chest, or hidden beneath mounds of soot. No one had bothered to truly see you as you were.

Emboldened, Daemon knew that tempting you with pretty words could have consequences — fortunately for him, he didn’t care in the slightest. “The only worthwhile subject is standing before me.” He countered, lips twitching into the ghost of a smirk.

A shiver ran down the length of your spine, heart galloping just a little faster when Daemon brazenly showered you in his silver-tongued sayings. You hadn’t been spoken to in such a manner before, and as much as you should’ve countered it, you didn’t.

Heat crept through your features as you kept your head down, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “I do not know what you speak of, my Prince.” Your reply was weak, soft spoken as you continued on your path back to the Red Keep. You didn’t want to reveal just how warm it made you feel.

“I believe you do,” Daemon mused, stepping close enough to you to ensure that the guards wouldn’t eavesdrop. “Surely, your Lord Husband has offered you such pleasure before, has he not?” His Valyrian timbre made your breath hitch within your throat.

“Prince Daemon,” You were in disbelief at his brashness, at how forward he was being with you. You didn’t want to indulge him — yet part of you did. “You must stop.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, strained and throaty. The silence became overwhelming as you made it toward the gates of the Red Keep.

When his name rolled from your tongue, Daemon’s lilac hues glistened with something indiscernible. He enjoyed the way you said his name — trembling and uncertain, as if he had revealed some horrible truth to you. Instead, the Prince stared at you, looking toward the gates.

“As you wish,” Daemon’s arrogance wafted from him like a thick haze, enough to permeate your immediate space. The Prince opted to shift the subject matter to something more appropriate — for your own sake, of course. “I suspect that I will have a nephew, soon enough.”

Daemon sounded indifferent, as if the prospect of a nephew wasn’t at all a pleasant idea. It would make him lower in the ranking of succession, you knew this. Otto had made multiple campaigns against Daemon to keep him from reaching the Iron Throne. Their rivalry was petty, as far as you were concerned.

Your steps slowed, keeping pace with Daemon as you made your way to the gates of the Red Keep. “You don’t sound very jovial, for an uncle.” You replied, and your observation seemed to catch his attention. “King Viserys is your brother. Are you not excited?”

A scoff escaped him as he stared at you, violet hues narrowing at your perceptiveness. “Is that how I seem to you, Lady Hightower? Devoid of joy?” Daemon smiled disparagingly, perching a palm atop the pommel of his blade.

Swallowing the slight lump within your throat, you detected his shackled fury, and you did not want to provoke the dragon any further. “My apologies, your Grace. I did not mean to be presumptuous.” You replied, fingers curling into your skirts.

“Of course you didn’t,” Daemon mused, lips twitching into a sardonic smirk. He seemed to believe you — though, part of your line of questioning felt personal, in retaliation for his jabs about your Lord Husband. “Have you been permitted to see the Dragonpit?”

Of the many places in King’s Landing, Daemon often longed to be on the back of Caraxes — or with his blade driven into any that crossed his path. You hadn’t been to see the Dragonpit yourself, considering that a lady of your station could never go many places unaccompanied.

“No, my Prince.” Disappointment danced within your voice, pace slowing again to keep in-step with Daemon. “I would love to see it, if allowed. Dragons are gorgeous creatures, symbols of your strength.” With a soft sigh, you looked to the Red Keep, looming overhead.

Daemon stepped closer, in close quarters as he looked down at you, noticing the subtle hitch within your throat. “Hm,” He glanced at your stalwart escorts, lilac eyes flickering over your pretty countenance. He dipped closer, lips ghosting near the shell of your ear. “Should your husband release you from your shackles, I could show you.”

A strange wave of gooseflesh crawled along the length of your spine, brows furrowing together as you recoiled, as if being scorched. You looked to Daemon with bewilderment, lip curling slightly as you regained your composure. “Your offer is a gracious one, your Grace.” You murmured.

It often shocked you how reckless Daemon was — abrasive and careless with his position. He could bed whomever he wanted, fuck and fight whenever it best suited him. It wasn’t a possibility for you, a noblewoman married to the Hand of the King. Part of you wished you could be afforded the liberties of a man like Daemon, but it was merely a fantasy.

Silence drifted between the both of you, enough to bring you some discomfort as you heard the doors to the Red Keep creak open. Daemon’s incendiary stare never wavered, never faltered as he kept his eyes on you. Your guardsmen were less than thrilled, but kept quiet as the two of you stepped into the hall.

“This is where I bid you farewell, my Prince.” Your voice was shrewd, nothing more than the soft lull of a mouse. Daemon regarded you with the ghost of a smirk, bowing before you as any gentleman would.

“I look forward to our next meeting, Lady Hightower.” Daemon replied, glancing toward a group of Targaryen guards that made their way to him. Your own escorts were happy to take advantage of the gap in attention, whisking you away into the depths of the Red Keep.

The atmosphere had shifted, from jovial and celebratory to eerie and desolate, somber — servants and nobles alike seemed riddled with melancholy, their heads hung low. Whispers of a fallen heir touched your ears, and then you understood why Otto had left in such a hurry.

Queen Aemma and her newborn son were dead.

You remembered what the air smelled like, the day of your sister’s funeral — you recalled the swaying of golden grass against stone, those in-mourning unable to stifle their tears. It was your mother that had wailed the most, draped across the terrace where her body lay, cloaked by a funerary shroud.

Now, the memories seemed to dance along the fringes of your mind, standing within the open plain far from King’s Landing, along the coastline of Blackwater Bay. Salty air peppered your flesh in soft kisses, eyes stinging with the onslaught of tears.

The despondent look on King Viserys’s face had harkened back to your youth, moments that still haunted your steps. You stood beside Otto, who appeared resolute despite the tragedy, but even you could see the wisps of empathy that flickered across his countenance. Stoicism was his forte, but even death could break the strongest man apart.

Daemon appeared somber, violet hues occasionally drifting toward his brother, the King, who let out a muffled sob as Rhaenyra set the funeral pyre ablaze. Dragon’s fire would return dragons to ash, to the great beyond. You admired the strength of the Princess, even through dour moments like this.

Once the burning of Queen Aemma and Baelon had ended, what nobles were left gathered amongst themselves to pay their respects, to the deceased and to the King. Viserys seemed indifferent, so far removed from the moment as his subjects offered their condolences.

Otto’s hand pressed into the small of your back, the first comforting gesture that he’d offered, completely unprovoked. He dipped down, enough to murmur words reserved for you and him. “The King will need my council during these dark times,” He uttered, “Now more than ever.”

You nodded, knowing that it implied Otto would be less present than he already was. His lips briefly graced the crown of your head before he slipped past, stepping towards King Viserys and Rhaenyra.

Standing alone, you opted to wander, venturing away from the melancholy gathering and toward the sea of wheatgrass that danced with the saltwater breeze. The scent of the ocean filled your lungs, made them whole — it was far better than that of King’s Landing.

Rays of a dying sun sparkled down upon you, licking your flesh with a comforting warmth that you savored. It was enough to make you exhale, eyes fluttering shut as you imagined yourself worlds away, or perhaps sailing out to sea, where it was only your hands that guided you.

The evening breeze jostled your tresses, blanketing your face with its softness. The tears that had prickled your eyes no longer made residence there as you hastily wiped them aside, hands wringing together before you.

Footsteps reverberated from your left side, as the shape of Prince Daemon came into your view. Despite the whirlwind of emotions he’d left you with earlier that day, you were inclined to place them aside. His dark tunic, lined in dragonscales, glittered beneath the waning sunlight.

“I am deeply sorry for your loss, Prince Daemon. I cannot imagine the pain of losing two of your family in one day,” You murmured, lips forming a pensive line as you looked at the Targaryen. He was unusually quiet for a spell, which prompted you to fill in the void. “I hope that your brother will recover.”

“He is the Dragon,” Daemon echoed, hands folded in front of him. “He will endure.” As for the Prince, there was some discomfort knowing that such a bloody fate had befallen Aemma. His sister-by-law had always been a devoted wife and good mother, and such a loving woman was difficult to come by. “My sister was a good woman.”

You had met Queen Aemma on multiple occasions, and she was pure — softhearted and kind, with a gentle visage that was sure to put anyone at ease. “She was,” You lamented, echoing Daemon’s sentiments with a threadbare smile. “And a good Queen.”

That was something Daemon could not argue with, violet hues finally shifting away from the horizon and onto you, a picture of beauty. Even in black tapestries, the color of mourning, you were still rather enchanting. Tenderness blossomed from within you, a soft heart — it was enough to temper Daemon, for just a moment.

He searched your visage, able to detect the growing dolour that became etched into your features. Your eyes glistened with unshed tears, many that threatened to spill over as you twisted your fingers together. “The last funeral that I attended was that of my sister,” You uttered, facing Daemon with a bitter smile. “I hoped that I would not have to attend another.”

A sister — Daemon was somewhat inquisitive regarding the finer details of your life, but he did not want to pry at the present. “Unfortunately, you will find that death is constant and unyielding,” He offered little consolation, but it was the hard truth. “Though, I trust that you will endure, just as my brother will.”

Daemon was often harsh and crass, always a realist with little desire to pull the wool over another’s eyes unless it was for personal gain. He knew that you were sweet, too malleable for this world — he hoped to see you blossom into something strong. With Otto Hightower for a husband, any woman would become as tough as steel.

Part of you wished for flowery words of reassurance from Daemon, but you found none — just a stoicism with an inkling of empathy. Though, you weren’t expecting much, and Otto would be of little comfort, too.

“You are more than just a wife, if you choose it. Do not allow yourself to sit underneath his boot forever.” Daemon murmured, boldly stepping inward to get a better look at you. Your subdued nature was partially Otto’s fault — he blamed the Hand for your sheltered demeanor, for your loneliness.

A brief stirring sensation erupted within your chest, and you looked to Daemon, a singular tear spilling across your forlorn features. “I do not have your luxuries, my Prince — I cannot bed whom I want, go wherever I please, abandon my husband — duty is everything. It may not mean anything to you, but it means something to me.” You quipped, your voice hushed yet strained.

Daemon huffed, lips curling slightly, as if to express disdain. Part of him understood your deep-rooted frustration, but perhaps he simply wanted to pass on his recklessness to you. “Quite presumptuous of you to assume that I care little for duty,” He replied, easily crawling beneath your skin. “You can do whatever you please, once you stop being so afraid.”

You nearly recoiled from him, clearly stung by the attack on your character. His assumption of your fear made you bristle, nostrils flaring as you turned your face away to mask the swell of anger. “This is where I leave you, Prince Daemon.” You hissed between gritted teeth, hands curled into fistfuls within your skirts.

He found your irritation to be somewhat perplexing — you were so repressed, tangled within your devotion to Otto and constant desolation. Daemon said nothing, merely watching as you retreated into the shadow of your Lord Husband.

You wouldn’t dare look back at Daemon — even as you felt those lilac hues pierce your defenses, you refused him, and made your way back with Otto.

If it were up to you, you would never see Daemon Targaryen again.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 — there was no joy to be found anywhere. With the King’s son and wife deceased, the idea of succession was called into question by the small Council. Part of you felt disgusted by the suddenness of such a meeting, especially while the King was in mourning.

Otto cared little for such things. It was imperative that an heir be chosen — or produced yet again, by means of a new betrothal for the King.

Despite the melancholy atmosphere of the Keep, your thoughts remained disorganized and scattered, preoccupied with Daemon Targaryen — and that was a dangerous thing. After his whispered inquiry of pleasure, his berating of you at the funeral, you could not rid him from your mind no matter how much you tried.

Any attempt to flush the Prince’s brazen advances out of your mind were met with a powerful resistance — the other half of you that had little desire to forget. In all honesty, you wanted to know what it was like to be coveted and sought-after, to feel true pleasure, understand its intricacies.

The other half demanded that you reject him, unleash your shackled wrath upon him. He vexed you like no other had before — he far exceeded that of Otto. Daemon had crawled beneath your flesh and taken up permanent residency there, and he would continue to do so unless you plucked up the courage to put a stop to it.

That night, you couldn’t sleep — Otto was nowhere to be found, meeting within the dead of night with the rest of the small Council. Even if he weren’t caught within a meeting, he seldom came to bed with you. He was often in his study, mulling over books, writing letters, attending to matters that didn’t involve you.

You were never involved in much of anything.

Frustration festered within you, rising like the swell of an encroaching tide. Clad in your evening gown, you retrieved a candlestick, slipping out of the Tower of the Hand and into the corridors of the Red Keep. Midnight strolls were not an uncommon thing for you, but this one proved to be more than just elusive sleep.

Your path led you dangerously close to the Small Council chambers, but as you approached, a figure stood outside of one wall, leering in through the tiny gaps. Light slipped through, providing faint illumination onto the face of Daemon Targaryen.

The Prince had been eavesdropping, curious to know about their intentions for succession. Should Viserys pass, the Iron Throne would fall to Daemon — but they wouldn’t allow it. Otto, in particular, was rather vocal in the push against Daemon as the rightful heir.

Daemon turned, craning to peer over his shoulder. Those shadowed, lilac hues drifted across you, your supple form glad in some lace-laden nightgown. Your hair had been pinned-up when he saw you last, and now, it was freed from its confines. He found you to be a visual feast for the eyes — beautiful beyond compare.

In the background, you listened to the squabbling from the Council members, the infighting over who would become heir. It disgusted you, the manner in which they conducted themselves — the Queen and her son were deceased, and the only thing that preoccupied them were the rights of succession.

The silence that lingered between you and Daemon was necessary, necessary enough for you to hear the numerous slanders that your Lord Husband hurled at the Prince. Their hatred continued to fester, and for as long as Otto Hightower lived and thrived in a position of power, he would plague Daemon’s every step.

At last, Daemon stepped away from his eavesdropping, moving towards you instead. “Looking for your husband, Lady Hightower?” He questioned, his voice rich as it dipped lower, hushed and soft enough for only you to hear. The narrow corridor you stood within was as silent as a crypt, not a guard in-sight.

You shook your head, lowering the candle toward your chest. Warmth brushed across your exposed collarbone, and you glanced at Daemon, lips parting slightly. “I could not sleep,” You confessed, teeth gnawing at your lower lip. “I suspect that you are here for a different reason.”

Concealed within the listless shadows of the corridor, Daemon took a step closer, nearly within arm’s reach. His mouth curled into that familiar, cheshire smirk — and it worried you. “What reason would that be, my Lady?” He questioned, head canting slightly.

The calculated way in which he stalked towards you left you feeling somewhat unnerved, hand cupped around the flickering light of the candle. Whatever look he had in his eyes, it mirrored the one he’d given you at the Tournament earlier that day — incendiary and lascivious.

“To see if you will ascend the Throne.” Daemon’s ambition was well-known — and sometimes, his ambition drove him to recklessness and ruthlessness. You knew about his displays of violence as Commander of the City Watch, his prowess with a blade.

Daemon scoffed, continuing to press closer to you, looming above you. The candlelight flickered across his sharp visage, basking him in an orange glow that touched his violet hues. His lips remained permanently fixed into a perplexed smirk, his hand reaching to grab your chin.

As if scorched, you jerked away, brows furrowing together as you glowered at him. “I do not want to see you anymore,” You mumbled, shaking your head with an air of defiance. “You’ve angered me.”

A sardonic chuckle escaped him, enough to further your agitation. It pricked away at your flesh, giving way to a layer of perspiration as it crept along your spine. “Angered you, is that it?” Daemon questioned, attempting to make you writhe. “If you truly wish to be rid of me, walk away — go back to the Hand’s bed.” He challenged.

Your heart slammed within your sternum, lip curling in disdain as you shook your head. The tension crackled between the two of you, one charged with a dangerous desire and anger — two overpowering emotions. “All you care for is the throne.” You whispered, yet your words held no merit at all.

It was something Otto would’ve hurled at him, and you were not your husband — you were far from it.

It was a feeble attempt to bait Daemon into anger just as he had so easily baited you. He was not quick to fall to your ploy, and instead, he happened to stare at you as if you were everything he’d ever wanted. It made you shiver — no one had looked at you like that before.

“You think me so singleminded, Lady Hightower,” He uttered, thumb tracing along your jawline. “I have little interest in the Throne.” In an unexpected move, he dipped forward, lips ghosting around the shell of your ear. “I am far more interested in you.”

Goosebumps cascaded down the length of your spine, and fear rippled through you at Daemon’s close quarters. You were terrified of someone seeing you with the Prince, and you stepped back, wrenching yourself free from his grasp. “This is inappropriate, my Prince. I am afraid you are experiencing a severe lapse in judgment.”

As you began to retreat away from the Council chambers and into the darkness of the corridor, Daemon followed, a predator trailing after prey. He cornered you into an alcove, his chuckle bemused and sardonic.

“My judgment is sound — the only judgment that will be called into question is your own,” He challenged, pinning you against the smooth stone of the wall. His hand cupped your hip, keeping you locked into place. “My poor, sweet Lady Hightower, left untouched and without a lick of attention from your dutiful husband.” Daemon clicked his tongue.

You shuddered, attempting to squirm and ward Daemon away, but he simply kept up his pursuit. “Please,” You whispered, fright filling your startled heart. The Prince’s lust had grown astronomically — all for you, this hidden jewel now within his grasp. “We can’t, Prince Daemon. Someone might see.” You urged.

Daemon seemed unconvinced, lips hovering above your own, tempting you in the most unholy way imaginable. That strong hand that held your hip began to knead into the flesh there, desiring to feel your bare skin. “Fuck everyone else.” He uttered, hot breath fanning across your countenance.

A soft whimper escaped you, and every fiber of your being cried out for him — you wanted this, wanted him to show you what true pleasure felt like. You watched as he inclined his head, blowing the candle out with a faint grin, leaving the both of you in darkness, save for the moonlight that pooled within the halls.

“I can’t, I don’t …” You whispered, voice mousy and meek, yet your resolve was crumbling away, revealing your soul, bare and angry. Part of you loathed Otto for never showing you affection, never indulging in desire, yet the other half of you yearned for the Rogue Prince to steal your virtue. “Daemon.”

It was guilt that had consumed you, initially — the guilt of betraying your husband, despite his lack of desire towards you. You never had anything for yourself — perhaps this could be the one thing. A clenched fist pushed against his chest, but you were weak.

“Why continue to wait for something that will never come, hm? Toil over a man that doesn’t want you?” Daemon questioned, his voice dropping to a sultry octave, a purr that raked across your spine. His hand began to gather your gown, bunching it up to allow him easier access.

“You — You vex me,” You whimpered, knowing that you were simply a rabbit trapped within the maw of a dragon, and perhaps, that was where you wanted to be. “You don’t want me.” It was a valiant attempt to talk yourself out of it, to convince yourself that you were unwanted.

Daemon peppered a string of hot kisses along your jaw, grabbing at your chin to tip your head back. “You don’t know what I want.” He murmured, his stare shadowed with lust. He kissed the side of your face, forehead briefly resting against yours as you considered the sin that you were about to commit.

It was liberating when you no longer thought of sin, and simply thought of your own needs and wants.

His unspoken pressure finally broke your carefully-constructed barrier, and you leaned upwards, rocking forward until you crashed into him. You dropped the candlestick, yet it made little noise. Your lips, soft and compliant, melded with his own — domineering and triumphant. Need blistered through, and he kissed you with such blazing passion.

You felt his other hand shamelessly move toward your neck, flexing underneath your jaw as he kissed you over and over again. You hadn’t experienced such passion before — and you never wanted it to end.

Daemon coaxed you closer, countenance one of sheer lust and possessiveness. His thumb traced across your lower lip, hand snug around your throat before he looked elsewhere. “Fucking is a pleasure, for a woman as it is a man,” He uttered, noticing the hitch in your throat. “I am certain your Lord Husband never bothered with it.”

Abashed, you shook your head, reveling in the sensation of his hand firmly kneading into your hip. “No, my Prince. He did not,” You paused, your hand finding its way to his chest, fingers curling into his tunic. “Would you show me?” It was a fine line, a perilous one — but you did not care, not anymore.

You hadn’t felt desire quite like this in your life — but you wanted it, more than anything else. The void within you, repression tangled up into a ball wound so tightly that it might explode — Daemon stoked the fire, and he seemed eager to let you come undone. You wanted Daemon.

In High Valyrian, he spoke one word. “Māzigon.” Come — Daemon’s hand slipped around yours, urging you away from the small Council chambers and into the depths of the Red Keep. Your trek led you to unfamiliar parts of the castle, some left untouched and unused.

The dust-laden doors led you to a small study, sparsely furnished, yet all Daemon truly needed was a surface wide enough to bear your body. There was a chaise lounge, with a thick direwolf’s hide serving as the rug in front of the darkened hearth. The remnants of an old, four-post bed sat off within the room somewhere, just as dour as the rest of the room.

No one would find you here.

Moonlight pooled through the two large windows, enough for you to see his porcelain, perfect features, tinged with silver. His platinum tresses turned to white, violet hues drinking you in with a ravenous hunger. Rapture and lust, a smoldering desire to make you give into him.

Daemon’s hands cupped either side of your neck, thumb pressing into the underside of your jaw at the other flicked against your lower lip. “Tepagon ezīmagon nyke,” He purred, towering over you as he dipped down, kissing along your jaw. “Take off your clothes.” His command was stern yet dripping with carnality.

If it weren’t for the sheer intensity of the moment, you might’ve become flustered, but instead, your hands flew toward the ribbons and ties of your gown. You shrugged the lace-laden shawl aside, allowing the garment to simply drop around your feet.

Your body was perfect — Daemon wanted it all for himself. If the Hand would not indulge in you, then he would. The Prince let out a low hum, admiring your silky flesh and delicate curves, hand skimming from the hollow of your throat to your breasts.

“For this to be hidden away for so long,” Daemon uttered, hand moving to greedily cup your breast. It elicited a sweet gasp from you, unexpected yet exhilarating. “Is a fucking crime.” He growled, and without another word, he moved to kiss you, like fire washing over you, all-consuming and devouring.

Instinct drove you as your hands clamored to the nape of his neck, tugging at the silken crown of pale tresses there. Daemon seemed pleased by this, teeth grazing along your lower lip before he bit down, eliciting a whine from you. He thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of you underneath his palm — as soft as velvet.

His tongue lapped across your lower lip, soothing the ache brought about by the sharp bite of his teeth. He kissed you hard, lips parted, the action warm and wet — he imagined tasting something else, head clouded with the unshakable haze of lust.

“Daemon,” You whimpered, abandoning all titles and formalities. He no longer referred to you as Lady Hightower — that wasn’t who you were anymore, not to him. One of your palms dropped to his chest, hesitantly fiddling with the ties of his tunic. “I want to see you.”

Perplexed, the Prince kissed your throat, head canting to one side. “Have you seen a man before, jorrāelagon?” He questioned, partially bemused yet curious to hear your answer. His affectionate High Valyrian caught your attention, causing a small tremor to roll along the base of your spine.

Sheepishly, you shook your head. Otto had never bothered to bear himself at all, and to some extent, you could understand — he was aging, and the attraction was most certainly slim. “No, I haven’t — but I’d like to.” You shivered when Daemon pulled you close, palm cupping your hip before it brazenly traveled to your haunch.

Any sliver of space between the two of you became nonexistent, replaced with heat and tension, bodies entangled into one. Your digits danced along the collar of his dragonscale tunic, imagining what strength and prowess rested beneath.

Instead, he peered at your wandering fingers, brows briefly lifting as if to encourage you. “Go on, then.” Daemon coaxed, his voice somewhat gravelly and pitched lower, interlaced with a burning desire. He watched with rapture as you slowly unfastened the ties and buckles of his tunic.

Daemon thought about being rough — grabbing your throat and fucking you into the lounge without a second thought, but he wanted to explore you. Your repression wasn’t your fault, and he felt some sense of triumph in fucking the wife of the Hand.

He shrugged his tunic aside, letting the garment fall to join the pool of lace and silk upon the floor. He was pale and well-muscled, a vision of perfection. Your hands began to glide across his broad shoulders, and then to his chest and abdomen.

Admittedly, Daemon savored the sensation of you touching him, exploring him — something about it was sickly sweet. “Have you touched yourself before, my Lady?” Daemon asked, pointed and unwilling to go without a direct answer.

Flustered, you nodded, seemingly embarrassed in regards to such actions. “Yes,” You exhaled, skin hot to the touch. “I know I shouldn’t have, but —“ Daemon stopped you with a kiss, hungry and needy, teeth nipping at your mouth with a subtle growl.

“Afraid that your Lord Husband will admonish you for it?” The Prince smirked, violet eyes glinting with a twinge of humor. Your expression reflected a whirlwind of emotions — from desire, lust, and embarrassment to a flicker of sadness and frustration. Daemon decided to leave it all alone and focus on you.

He coaxed you toward the plush velvet of the chaise lounge, sitting down with an unceremonious thud. Daemon was quick to collect you into his lap, all perfect and spread for him. A lustful silence filled the void between you both as he kissed your neck, calloused hands gripping the swell of your hips.

“Allow me to rectify your husband’s wrongs,” Daemon chided, kissing along the hollow of your throat, teeth sinking into your sensitive flesh. You moaned and whined, writhing atop him, chest pressed against his. “You are beautiful.” He said with such assurance, causing you to shudder.

Daemon’s ring-adorned hand snaked along the length of your body, finding the apex between your thighs, warm and slick with arousal. As soon as his thumb and forefinger slipped past your folds, you lurched forward, letting out a gasp of surprise.

The sensation was foreign yet pleasurable, like an electrifying jolt rolling down your spine. His mouth relentlessly assaulted your sweet flesh, leaving behind a myriad of bites and less than desirable markings. Your scent — a concoction of lavish perfumes and oils — invaded his senses like a thick haze.

His digits deliberately explored your cunt, every touch eliciting some strangled sound from you. You felt his fingers tease your entrance before sliding back towards your clit, flicking across that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your heart pounded within your chest, slamming against your breastbone like a drum.

“Daemon,” You moaned, back arching as you absentmindedly leaned into the Prince’s embrace. One of your palms molded itself to his bicep, the other continued to clutch at the nape of his neck. “Please, don’t stop!” With a needy whine, your hips rolled forward, attempting to gain a lick of friction. You wanted him to keep touching you there — forever, if he could.

His thumb languidly circled your clit, other digits sliding against your cunt. You squirmed and careened forward, insides hot as liquid warmth pooled between your thighs. It felt incredible — it was everything you’d ever wanted and more. Nothing could compare to the bliss that rolled through you.

The Prince continued with assailing your flesh, kissing his way across your collarbone, dipping low enough to find the perfect swell of your breasts. A low rumble resonated through Daemon’s chest, one of clear approval as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, kissing and sucking on the hardened peak.

A strangled whimper escaped you, one of clear delight. You hadn’t experienced any of this before — you wanted more, as much as Daemon was willing to give you. You gasped when his teeth dragged across your breast, causing you to jolt forward.

Ensuring that you would be well tended-to, Daemon sank his fingers forward, vigorously tracing across your cunt as his thumb did a majority of the work. Ripples of bliss rolled across your body in waves, and you rocked forward enough to ride his hand.

“Daemon!” You moaned, feeling his mouth drift away from your chest to the hollow of your throat. His teeth were sudden and sharp, nipping and biting wherever he pleased, one hand steadying you atop his lap. The other began to snake towards your neck, calloused digits able to feel the pounding of your heartbeat.

You whimpered his name as if it were the only word you knew — and for as sinful as it felt, you found yourself abandoning all sense of care and propriety. Daemon made you feel incredible, in ways that you had merely dreamed of.

As Daemon traced two digits along your slick entrance, his lilac hues fell across your visage, searching for any signs of hesitation. You felt the brief pressure, one hand comfortably sitting at the nape of his neck, the other gripping at his shoulder.

Deliberately, he began to sink two fingers inside of you, watching as your countenance blossomed into a look of bliss and startlement. Daemon soothed your worry with a kiss, head canting to one side as to deepen it, and you followed, flesh crawling with warmth.

A soft, smothered moan escaped you as he gingerly eased both digits in and out of your tight cunt, enough to make you gasp. The sensation was foreign yet incredible, enough for you to rock forward, brow furrowed in concentration. Daemon continued to litter your neck in kisses and bites, hand groping the swell of your plush hips.

“There she is,” Daemon growled against the hollow of your throat, lips traveling upward until they collided against yours. It was a messy, hot kiss, one that made your stomach slosh with molten heat. “A woman deprived of pleasure.” He murmured, prompting you to kiss him again, needy and desperate.

Some sliver of you knew how wrong this was — the infidelity, the disloyalty to your Lord husband, the selfishness that weighed upon you — you should’ve been aghast. Yet, in the heat of the moment, you thought little of it, content to let Daemon Targaryen finger-fuck you into a blissful oblivion.

You were lost to your own ecstasy, thoroughly reveling in the myriad of sensations you were now getting to experience. “Daemon,” You sighed against his mouth, feeling his teeth briefly scrape across your lower lip. “I want more.” A groan escaped you as his digits began to still, thumb circling your clit.

As he slowly removed his fingers from your tight heat, Daemon brazenly groped at your breast, pale brows furrowing together as he began to untie the laces of his trousers. You steeled yourself, feeling a brief pang of anxiousness strike at your gut. You knew that it was supposed to hurt, and the very thought frightened you.

“More?” Daemon echoed, the shadow of lust dancing within his eyes as he deposited you onto the lounge, hands seizing your ankles as he dragged you to the precipice. Without pause, he sank to his knees, broad and beautiful between your legs as he kissed your thigh. “You’ll have to beg me for it.”

You exhaled, sharp and excitable as your hand fell to the edge of the chaise lounge, nails digging into the wood and velvet. “Please,” You whispered, shifting atop the cushion as Daemon bit at your soft flesh. “Please, Daemon!” The sound that left you was pathetic — simpering, even.

He enjoyed hearing you whine — it was a stark reminder of what Otto Hightower could never have. Daemon’s mouth maintained the barest hint of a smirk, pressing a string of kisses toward the warmth between your legs. You were silk and saccharine beneath his fingertips, feverishly warm.

The first stroke of his tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, a sensation that set you ablaze. Whimpers turned to ash within your throat, flesh unnaturally hot — you melted beneath Daemon, and that was exactly what he wanted.

A shiver coursed down your spine, hips canting forward toward Daemon’s mouth. His breath was hot, warm wisps of air fanning out across your slit. It was heavenly — you nearly forgot yourself, moaning his name as you fisted the cushions on either side of you.

His hum was satisfactory, tongue dancing along your weeping core, drinking you in like a fine wine. The cool, silver bite of his ring dug into your hips, his grip ironclad, enough to leave bruises behind.

If Daemon had it his way, he would bruise you again — in the light of day, able to see his marks etched into your flesh, knowing that they were his creation. Possessiveness swelled within him, an ugly and festering thing — he wanted you terribly.

Pleasure rippled through you, consuming every fiber of your being. Daemon’s mouth found your clit, suckling at the clutch of fiery nerves. You gasped, nails digging into your palm, thighs attempting to rub together, kept apart by the Prince’s broad shoulders.

“Daemon,” You moaned, your jaw falling slack as you rolled forward into his maw. A soft huff escaped you as his tongue caressed your cunt, returning to assail your clit again. It was bliss overwhelming, prompting you to reach for his shoulders. “Daemon!”

Tension furled within the pit of your stomach, a familiar knot of ecstasy that brought you closer to the edge. Daemon’s mouth sluggishly receded, peppering kisses and love bites along your inner thighs. He licked his lower lip, violet hues threatening to burn through you.

Your chest rose and fell with the throes of excitement, skin prickling with anticipation. Daemon kissed your hip, moving to stand between your legs. He loomed over you, physique eclipsing all inklings of firelight — a shadow of desire.

He stepped back toward the mound of furs, silently gesturing for you to follow. “Lie down.” Daemon purred, his voice more of a lascivious command instead of a question. With a simple pull, he loosened the strings of his smallclothes, gaze hooded.

A whimper nearly erupted from your throat, never coming to fruition as you stood from the lounge, following Daemon’s lead. You slipped down onto the furs, with only the moonlight as your guide. Your legs parted for him, expectant and waiting.

The loss of one’s maidenhead was often rumored to be an intense and bloody affair — it no longer frightened you like it used to. Daemon stepped out of his leather trousers, bare and statuesque before you, a porcelain god come to claim you.

Moonlight bathed his flesh in a sea of silver, pale rays dancing across his ivory complexion. There was something calculating and predatory in the way he moved, a confidence that few possessed. He sank down, crawling between your legs as he reached your mouth.

Lips clashed again, a dance of desire as the head of his cock brazenly brushed along your slick cunt. Daemon was sizable, to be sure, a man with a plethora of experience. You shuddered when he planted a hand beside your head, the other gripping your hip.

Again, the head of his length threatened to split past your folds, oozing with tendrils of precum as he kissed you once more. It was ravenous, with all the ferocity and vigor of a dragon as he prepared to rock his hips forward. His broad physique kept you spread apart, molten heat churning within your belly.

Daemon finally snapped his hips forward, cock sheathing itself inside of you with little resistance. You gasped, the intrusion somewhat painful and discomforting at first, but he made sure to distract you, pressing hot kisses along your neck. He wasn’t gentle, leaving behind evidence of his affections in the form of flourishing marks.

His cock bullied its way into your cunt, stretching you in new ways, a different sensation from his fingers or yours. Daemon grunted, a huff escaping him as he allowed you a moment to adjust, grow used to the feeling.

Your countenance blossomed with pleasure, gaze a touch smoldering as you found Daemon’s visage. Those violet hues continued to devour you, a visual delight to the Rogue Prince as he fucked you. It wasn’t as rough as he typically was, opting to spare you from the brunt of his usual debauchery.

He found a rhythm, each movement succinct and sharp, hips driving forward as his cock buried itself within you with each thrust. You moaned, feeling the occasional dull ache of pain as you surrendered your virtue to Daemon, nails digging haplessly into the muscle of his shoulders.

Part of you forgot about decency and honor, trampling it into the dirt as Daemon speared you with his length. Friction grew between the both of you, flesh against flesh, perspiration building along your brow. Heat openly oozed between you, cunt slick with arousal.

The angry lines of your eager nails raked over Daemon’s shoulders, the remnants of your sin. He seemed to be savoring your roughness, throat reverberating with a myriad of grunts and softer, subtle groans.

“Turn over.” Daemon huffed, able to detect a flicker of confusion within your gaze. Admittedly, seeing your pretty face contort into one of bliss as he fucked you was rather enticing, but he was chasing after his release.

Silent, you did as he asked, turning over onto your stomach. Something about the newfound position made you shiver with anticipation, and you gasped as Daemon grabbed your hips. He lifted half of you from the furs, hips pressing into the swell of your backside.

He guided his cock back to your slit, thrusting inside of you as he assumed a quick, needy pace. Daemon’s palms squeezed at your hips, layering over the already-formed bruises from earlier endeavors. He split you asunder; a clash of lewd noises filled the room, accompanied by your intermingled sighs of passion.

You moaned, hands scraping across the direwolf hide beneath you, gripping at the furs as Daemon plunged himself into you. His motions were repetitive, intensifying in their erratic pace as he grunted. You were perfect — the noises that emerged from you only served to encourage him, unbeknownst to you.

Liquid heat oozed between your thighs, arousal spilling onto Daemon’s cock. You were teetering along the brink of a blissful oblivion, feeling your pleasure mount. Daemon’s hand slithered between your legs, thumb rolling over your clit to give you some stimulation.

It was as if the dam had shattered, consumed by the squall of lust as you whimpered. A myriad of wanton sounds escaped you, followed by a rush of warmth that surged to your cunt. Daemon growled, feeling your slit tighten around him, your release an incredible one.

Daemon followed suit, painting your insides with his milt — a dangerous game, but one that he enjoyed playing. He removed himself halfway through, coating your thighs and cunt in ropes of his seed, enough for you to feel the heat of it.

He huffed, noticing the faint trembling of your thighs, rattling like leaves as you attempted to recuperate. You had little time for composure, knowing that you needed to return to the Tower of the Hand before your Lord husband emerged from his council meeting.

The Prince did not adopt your swiftness, watching with a tempestuous stare as you retrieved your clothing, flesh sparkling with perspiration. You did not want to leave, but you feared discovery — you feared what would happen if Otto were to find out about such nocturnal proclivities.

“Going somewhere?” Daemon questioned, knowing fully well what the answer would be. He happened to redress himself in his smallclothes, observing you with the ghost of a smirk.

“I must return to the Tower of the Hand,” You mumbled, slick between your legs. The combination of Daemon’s spent and your arousal proved to be sticky and uncomfortable, but you would endure the walk and clean yourself up as soon as you could. “I cannot be seen.”

Daemon scoffed, dismissive of your concerns, though he allowed you the courtesy of dressing and preparing to depart. “Still worried for your husband,” He mused, stepping forward to caress your cheek. “How sweet.” It was cajoling, but you cared little.

“Daemon,” You began, but he stopped you with a kiss, eyes twinkling with a semblance of mirth. He held your face between his calloused palms, thumbs gingerly gliding along your cheekbones. “I do not … I do not know when I can see you again.”

A bemused hum escaped him as he cocked his head to one side, feeling your palm press flat atop his muscled chest. “Already thinking of the next time, my Lady?” He purred, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “Perhaps, when next we meet, it will be at the Dragonpit.”

It was far away from prying eyes — what better place to let feelings run hot than the seat of dragonkind at King’s Landing? Even then, Daemon knew that any future trysts would be difficult to achieve, if they were to continue.

You kissed him — a sweet gesture, one that was chaste and ladylike. Daemon could not allow something so brief, seizing your chin to kiss you again. Your head was spinning with so many things, to the point of feeling so very overwhelmed.

“I have to go.” You whispered, squeezing Daemon’s forearm as you passed. Your state of dress was somewhat uncouth, but you had no time. You made sure to keep quiet as you slipped into the gap between doors, stealing another look back at the Rogue Prince.

Violet hues remained indiscernible, though his expression was telling — the very same incendiary look he’d given you at the Tournament. “Until next we meet, Lady Hightower.”

@ copyright — all works belong to swordgrace, please do not copy or translate this work onto any other platforms or accounts.

[dearsnow]

WE’RE BORN AT NIGHT

- in which you hold johnny cade like water, or, christ, you hold him like a knife (you’re worried that your touch brings up unpleasant memories for your boyfriend, but he feels differently. johnny cade x gn!reader, angst -> fluff but still bittersweet bc there’s nothing you can really do but hold him, yes this is based off of who we are by hozier because i am a heathen for the irish man).

word count: 1,022

a/n - my first johnny piece and the first piece that i’ve done in actual months 🥹 this is likely not my comeback though and i’m sorry for that 😭 i will always write and i will probably post most of it, but life has been rocky for me lately and my available free time reflects that. in any case, i hope you enjoy my short return (there will inevitably be more as i work things out), and plsss talk to me about the outsiders and literally anything else because i will most definitely love to hear it.

It’s not often that Johnny Cade comes knocking at your door, despite the fact that he’s been your boyfriend for three months now. He never wants to put you out, he says, but when he shows up with a black eye and hand-shaped bruises on his arm, you usher him inside as quickly as you can.

“What happened?” You murmur, eyes scanning over his injuries.

“Just my old man again.” He hesitates. There’s a sharp edge to his words, like they cut his mouth just to say. “Look, I shouldn’t have come.”

You cut him off, tone brimming with concern. If he doesn’t feel safe with you, with staying at your house when his is dangerous, then you need to try harder to keep his quiet heart intact. “You can always come.”

“I know. I mean, the gang’s all out at a party ‘n I guess I just didn’t know where else to go.” He shifts his stance uncomfortably as you hand him two bags of frozen vegetables. “As much as you say you want me here, I know there are some places where I ain’t welcome.”

You would kill his parents if you could. Fuck, you would send them straight to Hell without a second thought. Anyone that truly knew what was going on in that house would. All you can do, though, is take care of him as well as you’re able to.

“I promise, you’re welcome. More than anyone or anything else. I need you here, when things are rough and when they aren’t. Tell me you’ll come when you can.” You speak.

He looks so beautiful in this light, despite everything. You love him so badly that your heart aches from just the movements of his sad brown eyes. “I will.”

“Good.” You smooth down the collar of his jacket, making careful, delicate movements. You fear that if you go a hair too close, he will shatter like the glass bottles thrown at him. “Let’s go to my room, okay? My parents won’t be home until later. We can get you some rest.”

There’s a small part of Johnny that detests himself for holding you back. You could be doing greater things than pressing a wet rag to his forehead, and yet, you stay. You always stay. No matter how horrible the situation, you stay with a pinky linked around his and a warmth so hopeful he thinks he might implode every time he feels it.

You pull your thick blankets over him, uncaring of his grease and the slightly grungy clothes rubbing against your bedsheets. If he needs you, and god, does he look it, you will always be there.

You’re facing him in bed, hands outstretched to card through his hair, but they don’t make contact. His eyes are lightly closed. You wish you could just touch him, hold his hands between your fingers and warm your feet against his calves. There’s some sort of unbreakable barrier between you when you feel that your every movement could send him spiraling into memories of an unkind fist. And yet, an unconscious twitch sends your leg just a centimeter forward to touch his. If you think real, real hard about it, you might have felt him jolt.

“I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable, Johnny.” You whisper, shifting your legs so they’re no longer against him. “I’m real sorry. I know sometimes you don’t like that kind of stuff.”

“No.” He starts, opening his eyes. The rasp in his voice makes your heart sting like a bee’s last breath. “I like it, I mean, I think I do.” His gaze turns towards yours again, brimming with a kind of beautiful emotion, and his fingers move towards your sleeve. “It kinda… it tells me a bit that fingers ain’t always gonna ball up in fists and a palm against my cheek don’t have to hurt.” He breathes. You stare at him. He likes it? Lord, he likes it, and you like it, and you will die if you cannot swathe your entire body around him like you’re trying to keep him together. “‘S like you hold me like water, or, I dunno, a knife. Real gentle and secure n’ such.”

You travel the distance between you, tenderly wrapping your arms around his midsection. He pulls you closer, and suddenly, you feel complete.

If he was being honest, Johnny thinks you saved him. His whole life, he chased and chased the peace that evaded him every second of every day. Like a dog, kicked and dark-eyed, he put his nose to the ground and simply smelled the greater things on the horizon. They were out of reach to him, the silence just barely kissing the tip of his head before dancing so far away he couldn’t reach it if he sprinted. But you, God, you gave him everything he could ever want.

When merciful you came waltzing into his life, he thought nothing could ever be quite so horrible again. You have a forgiving hand and a quiet smile, laced with words that tickle his cheeks rather than grinding him into the earth. When he can reach out to you, gripping your warm arm like a lifeline, everything makes sense. He wouldn’t give that up for the world. He drinks in the affection you give him like sand in a bone-dry desert, and the thought that you could ever be worried about how much you love sets his heart ablaze.

“I’m glad.” You whisper. He can feel your breath against his shirt, and it makes him shiver in a pleasant way. “I love you.“

His breath hitches, heart picking up its pace, as he gently buries his warming face into the top of your head. “I love you too. And… and if you’re here, I want to be here forever.”

He squeezes you just a little bit, just enough to let you know that he never wants to let you go.

“Then I’m never leaving.” You smile. He smiles back, and for the first time that night, he thinks that he might be able to do more than just survive.

[fangirl-dot-com]

Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris - It's not Orange, It's Papaya

Welcome to the second instalment of my spinoff series – Besties for the Resties! I really thought that I could maybe have made a single chapter for each driver, BUT I feel like Oscar and reader would be too introverted together and the story would be a bunch of lines about silence and them staring at each other. They really needed Lando to be able to get talking and to banter. 

I myself am very introverted and I freeze up around people that I don’t know. But when I’m with my extroverted friends, I have a completely different side! I don’t explicitly say this but I do base the reader off of myself most of the time. I am a Virgo, I am from Texas, and I just turned 20, so many of the lines I give the reader are things that I have said or would say. That being, do you think that the reader is a bit all over the place or is she a good solid character who acts in very realistic ways?

I hope you enjoy and please don’t forget to comment! I love reading everything that you all have to say about the story! It makes me happy to see that you’re enjoying it! (Also comment if you want to be added to the tag list!) Much love – author! 

Of course the elevator had to be broken, on today of all days. You sludged up the stairs, leaving puddles to follow where you stepped. Once you hauled yourself to the top of the stairs, you stomped over to your apartment door. Why Christian wanted you to come to London for an extra training session during rainiest week of the break, you didn’t know. 

You were supposed to be at Max’s house right now, eating dinner with his family. But noooooo. Max didn’t even have to come either. Something about how your test time was deleted, or something like that. You could barely hear Christian over the ocean when he called you in the middle of a beach day. 

Your hand dug through your pocket, searching for the keys as you approached your door. But, your fingers never came into contact with the smooth metal piece. You flipped your pocket inside out, and all that fell from it was lint. 

“Great. Just perfect,” you muttered as you looked at your door. You turned your head. Maybe Logan was here. You shuffled over and knocked. Tiredly, you rested your head against the nice wood. 

After a few moments, you didn’t hear anything, which brought out another sigh. Of course he wouldn’t be here. He was probably back in the states for the break. 

You were definitely making a statement by dripping all over the floor. Maybe you should lay down, floor time always helped. As you were about to lift your head, the door suddenly opened up. 

You didn’t have enough time to react and found yourself sprawled in between Logan’s flat and the door frame. 

“Logan am I so glad that you’re…You’re not Logan,” you looked up and were met with the sight of none other than Oscar Piastri. 

He looked down at you, “Good to see you too Y/n.” He put out a hand for you to take. You gently placed your hand in his and he hauled you up. There was now a massive you-shaped puddle on the ground. 

You looked down at it, “Sorry for the mess.” Oscar crossed his arms. 

“Why are you knocking on Logan’s door at,” he looked over at the clock on the wall, “5 p.m.?” 

You sheepishly grinned, “Well, I may or may not have forgotten my keys back at Milton.” Your hand scratched your head. 

Oscar just stared at you. You stared back. 

“Why are you here?” you quizzed. You knew that Logan and Oscar were best of friends, but didn’t realize that Oscar had a key to the flat. 

He sighed, “Lando invited me to be in the Quadrant Christmas video and the filming is this week.” He ushered you to come more into the room so that he could close the door. “But Lando graciously forgot that Max Fewtrell only has one extra bed. So Lando took it and I called Logan to see if I could stay here.” 

“Ah,” you nodded and looked down at yourself. 

Oscar suddenly sputtered, “I will go get you a towel and then see if Logan has something in his drawers.” He quickly left, but then turned back around. You raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes?” 

“Do you know where everything is? I guess you’d be over here more than me.” You gave him a reassuring smile and walked deeper into the house. You had taken your shoes off before stepping on the carpet as to try to not drench everything. 

In the bathroom, you found some towels. “Here,” you handed one to Oscar. “Could you wipe the puddle I left at the front while I change?” He nodded and disappeared down the hallway. You closed the door behind him and peeled of your soaked outfit. 

You took some sweats and a random t-shirt from a drawer and put them on. You bundled your wet clothes and threw them in the wash as you walked towards the living space. It seemed like Oscar had already cleaned everything up since the towel was now hanging on the back on a chair. You ran another towel over your hair, drying it to the best of your abilities. 

Oscar walked back in. The two of you stood in silence before you fished out your phone. You pressed on the uber app, but a notification told you that the roads were flooded and you’d have to wait until the morning. You sighed, which peaked Oscar’s interest. 

“Everything ok?” he asked, Australian accent filled with concern. 

You showed him the screen. “Everything is flooded. I can’t get back to get my keys.” Oscar looked deep in thought. 

“You could always stay here?” It came out more like a question. 

“I don’t want to trouble you,” you fiddled with your fingers. Before now, you had never said more than ten words to the Aussie. Sure, he was Logan’s friend, but he wasn’t your friend. You were about to say something, when a knock resonated in the small entrance. The two of you whipped to look at it. You both waited in silence before another knock sounded. 

You raised an eyebrow and mouthed, “Are you expecting anyone?” Oscar shook his head. He quickly moved you behind him before looking out the peephole. He groaned before opening the door. 

There, standing in the doorway, was a soaked Lando Norris. You wanted to laugh. 

So you did. 

The two boys looked at you while you tried to calm yourself down. Lando brushed past Oscar and made his way into the flat. 

“By all means, welcome in,” Oscar sarcastically said. He locked the door and turned to look at him. You had finally been able to calm yourself down. 

“Hi Lando,” you greeted before turning around to enter the kitchen. 

“Uh, hi?” 

Oscar hit the back of his head, “What happened to you staying at Max’s?” 

Lando shrugged. “His girlfriend was over and I wasn’t about to watch them suck faces.” You snorted. 

“Aha, felt.” The three of you kind of just watched each other. You were the first one to talk. “Lando, do you want a towel?” 

He breathed a sigh of relief before answering, “Yes please.” 

You turned and headed back into the direction of Logan’s bedroom. Thankfully there was one more towel. You also grabbed another pair of sweats and a t-shit. You reemerged from the hallway and handed the items to Lando. 

“Bathroom is down the hallway to the left.” Your head jerked in the direction. Lando went around you and disappeared. You looked back at Oscar. 

“So. Sleepover?” A smirk grew on your face, before your cheeks got hot and you panicked. “Unless you’d rather me go see if I can find the landlord to get another key. I wouldn’t want to make you or Lando uncomfortable?” You continued to ramble until Oscar lightly hit your face. That shut you up. 

He rubbed his face. “No, Y/n it’s fine. Besides it’s getting late and I don’t think Logan would like it if I told you to leave.” You nodded as Lando finally came back, clothes in a heaping wet mess in his arms. You told him to put them next to the washer and that you’d start his clothes when yours were done. 

Lando clapped his hands. “What’s the plan?” 

You went to respond but Oscar beat you to it, “Sleepover.” You watched as Lando’s lips turned upwards. 

“Hold on!” you yelled and watched Oscar and Lando jump in their place. 

The two boys watched as you made your way to the kitchen. You leaned down to look what was in the fridge. “Jackpot. Bless you and you Americanness Logan.” You brought out three dark red cans and handed them to each boy.  

They looked at the cans with the white font. 

“What is this?” Lando asked, popping the can. 

You gawked at them and smacked you head. “You’re telling me. You’ve been friends with Logan and he hasn’t given you Dr. Pepper!” They both shook their heads. “Well, it’s about time you tried it.” Two more pops sounded as you and Oscar opened your cans. 

“Is it alcoholic?” Oscar asked, taking a sip of the sweet drink. 

You looked at the both of them, “Guys, I’m twenty. And where I’m from, you have to be at least 21 to partake in such adultish things such as drinking alcohol.” You took a sip and closed your eyes. You could feel the freedom seep into your veins. 

The boys looked at you strangely before Lando spoke in a childish voice, ‘Aw so you’re just a baby.” 

“Says the one who acts like a 5-year-old,” you quipped. Oscar choked on his drink while Lando stared at you. Oscar quickly wiped his face. “Do you like it?” 

Lando nodded, “It’s very sweet.” 

“That’s the taste of freedom boys.” 

“Y/n, none of us are under communism,” Oscar pointed out. 

“But you both have a monarchy who makes all the decisions.” 

“That’s Parliament,” Lando coughed, a smirk adorning his face. 

“Tomato, tomato.” You waved your hand. “I think Logan has a severe addition to frozen pizzas. I could make one real fast?” Their stomachs answered for them. 

You got to work by preheating the oven. When that was done, you carefully took off the plastic (not wanting to melt it onto the pizza), and placed the circle on a baking sheet. By now, the two McLaren drivers had moved to the couch. After setting the timer, you also joined them, but sat on the floor. 

You looked them up and down at you sipped. “It’s weird seeing the two of you not in orange.” 

Oscar slapped his face. “Here we go.” 

Lando looked like you had insulted him, his whole family, and his cow. He sat up straighter and crossed his legs. 

“It’s not orange, it’s papaya,” he emphasized the syllables. 

“It falls into the orange category of colors,” you bit back. 

“Then it would be called orange then. Oh wait, it’s not.” 

“Aren’t you a sassy little dude,” you peered at him. “It’s giving Scorpio.” Lando lit up like a Christmas tree. Oscar again, face palmed. 

“Please let’s not start this,” Oscar groaned. However, you and Lando didn’t listen to him. The two of you began to discuss star signs and what characteristics came with them. He was surprised when you told him that you were a Virgo. 

“Aren’t they shy?” 

You looked down at your fingers, “I’m shy until I get comfortable. Believe me, when I first saw you guys, I was shaking like a leaf. I still do. And if you put me into a room full of strangers I will find a way out so help me.” 

Lando dramatically brought you into a hug, his face pressed against yours. His hand came up to pat your head as you shot help-me-eyes at Oscar. “It’s ok little introvert, your extrovert is here to protect you.” You shoved him off when you heard the oven beep. The pizza had turned out perfectly. 

Not wanting to do dishes, you three ate off of paper towels. You picked up the remote as you ate a bite. “What movie should we watch? Logan has Disney Plus.” 

Oscar rolled his eyes, “Yeah I know. You two finished Cars without me.” 

“It’s not like we can’t start it over.” You turned to Lando. “Have you seen Cars 2?” 

Lando scoffed, “Of course I’ve seen Cars 2.”  

You held up your hands in mock defeated as you turned the movie on, “You seem uncultured.” You missed the look that Lando gave you. 

Like it always is, Cars 2 was fabulous. Lando was the first one to speak during the movie. His finger was pointed at the large TV. 

“Look its Charles.”

You thought he was pointing at Lightning McQueen, but Francesco. You and Oscar wheezed at the revelation. 

“But Charles is Lightning though,” your hands now pointed at the flashy red car now on screen. 

Oscar took a sip from his Dr. Pepper, “Lando would be the Volkswagen.” 

You gasped, “You’re right. He’s such a Filmore. Logan would be Sarge.” The two boys laughed out loud. 

The three of you screamed as you saw Lewis’s car come up. Lando quickly took a picture and promised to send it him. 

The movie continued before Lando spoke again, “Yeah, Max is definitely Mater.” 

“I know right,” you said, munching on another slice of pizza. “What car is Oscar though, none of them really fit him.” Oscar gave you an offended look. 

“He’d be Axelrod.” 

“I beg your pardon,” Oscar whipped his head around to look at Lando. 

“Well you would. I swear, if you were planning our demise, no one would think it’d be you.” 

You jumped in, “Either him or the Professor.” Oscar grimaced and shook his head. 

“I’ll take Axelrod.” 

“Y/n you’d be McMissile.” You fist pumped. 

“Why does she get to be the cool character?”  

“Because I’m better than you?” That earned you a scoff from the Aussie. 

“Sure. Just because you’re going to be driving a rocket ship doesn’t mean you’re better.” 

“Ladies, ladies, ladies, can we quiet down, the movie is still going on,” the Brit complained. You and Oscar leaned back and continued to watch the movie. You’re pretty sure that Lando was in tears at the end, and you and Oscar couldn’t help but tease. You went to change the movie to another one, when yet another knock sounded on the door. 

The three of you froze and slowly turned to look at the door, as if it would move. The knock sounded again. You and Oscar pushed Lando closer to the entrance. He gave you both a stink eye before looking opening the door wide open. 

“Christian!” you squealed and ran over to the older man. He was smart enough to have brought a rain coat and jacket. 

He held out your keys, “I think you forgot something.” He looked over your shoulder and stared at the two McLaren drivers. “Giving our secrets away Y/n?” 

You looked over a smirked, “As if they could use them properly in their tractor.” The two boys rolled their eyes in sync. Christian bid you goodbye and closed the door behind them. You noticed a sad look on the guys’ faces. 

You shrugged and sank down into the couch once again, a blanket over your lap. You looked at them as they continued to stand. With your eyebrow raised, you questioned, “Why are you two still standing there?” 

They shrugged and joined you. 

Lando looked at you, “I think we thought that you’d want to go to your flat now.” 

“Well boys, I was promised a sleepover. And a sleep over I will get. Now, what movie are we going to watch? I say Spider-man Homecoming. Lando is it true that Tom Holland is going to play you in a movie?” 

“My lips are sealed.” 

“That’s ok. He’s not called the Spoiler King for nothing!”    

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